Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s Argyle, of all people, who notices it first. 

Somehow, ‘dropping Will off after D&D with the party’ turns into ‘dinner with the Hopper-Byers and Argyle. Will is the last to be dropped off so he has all the time in the world to talk Steve’s ear off throughout all of the other drop-offs about their game. The boy is midsentence when the car rolls to a stop in front of Hopper’s cabin, and the crestfallen look on his face when he cuts himself off with a small ‘Oh’ is enough to shatter Steve’s heart to pieces. He hasn’t heard the boy talk at such length in months.

Three weeks have passed since the earthquake split Hawkins at the seams. Progress was slow with El closing portals. Steve could never quite wrap his head around her whole deal, but he knew that when it was his time to drive around town with her, he made sure to buy a flat of Gatorade from Joyce’s grocery store and pack a feast of her favourite snacks into the boot of his BMW. Whatever she was doing with that big brain of hers was exhausting. Even the gate that sat dead in the centre of the Munson’s old trailer had tired her out so immediately that she’d collapsed– would've hit the floor hard enough to hurt too if not for Eddie’s surprisingly good reflexes. 

They’d sat together cross-legged on Eddie’s floor chatting quietly until El had roused enough to down some of the sustenance Steve had come equipped with. She’d made small confused sounds as she came back to awareness with her legs pulled up, cradled in Steve’s lap, while Eddie absently petted one hand over her buzzed hair. The smile Eddie had shone down at her as he checked on her had made Steve’s face heat up significantly.

That was another thing Steve had learned about the kid wonder– El already had trouble with words, but when she’d been spent after using her powers, all words left the building. Steve prided himself on his ability to read the kids, but even he had to admit that he’d spent the least amount of time with El. He ate up every small fact and idiosyncrasy he could find. El liked frozen waffles, fruit punch Gatorade, and the little baggies of chocolate chip cookies they sold in the bakery section. When she was tired, she liked small amounts of touch, but never on her torso or arms. El didn’t like taking pills, but if he crushed one up for her, she could be convinced to take ibuprofen when the pain in her hands got too bad.

The wonder twin's field trips cycled through various chaperones, but the main three to make trips around Hawkins with El were Hopper, Jonathan, and Steve. Eddie or Nancy would take over or join in when they were available, but for the most part it cycled between the three men. 

Getting close to El, of course, meant getting closer to Will. The siblings were so close that it made Steve (almost) wish he’d had a sibling growing up. It wasn’t a serious thought, though, as much as a recurring one. Steve was too used to a quiet house to think seriously about things like that. Besides, his closest frame of reference for family was this group of world-saving weirdos. Will was the reason there was a notebook and plastic bag filled with coloured pencils sitting in his glove box next to Robin’s inhaler and the extra pairs of gym socks left there for Lucas. Will didn’t always come on the portal outings, but when he did, he and El sat stuck together in the back seat quietly, glued from toe to tip. 

All this to say, when Steve saw Will’s crestfallen look upon pulling up to their little cabin in the woods, he immediately threw the car in park and gestured for the kid Byers to continue. The smile on Will’s face was worth it. Steve caught the fingers on Will’s left hand twitching slightly against the dashboard– a good sign, that meant that Will was excited. Getting to know these kids was like spending time with two, human-sized cats.

“Come inside,” Will said instead of continuing where he left off.

“Don’t you want to finish your story?”

“I do! I do,” Will insisted, a slight tinge of pink flushing on his cheekbones, “But I’m also hungry. The boys ate the snacks at Eddie’s before I got any... Can I tell you inside?”

Who was Steve to say no to those eyes? He dragged a hand down his face to hide his fond smile before reaching over to ruffle the boy’s hair. The pair climbed out of the car, Will continuing in his story–most of which was going entirely over Steve’s head– as they walked up the porch and to the front door. Steve really really didn’t understand this game, but sometimes after he’d driven home his car full of excitable high schoolers, he’d pull out the notebook he kept in his centre console and write down the important parts that the kids would expect him to remember. He’d never been the best student, but they always got so happy when he remembered, so he tired to make an effort.

The unmistakable scent of weed drifted over from the back of the cabin– not strong enough to imply that someone was out back at that very moment but strong enough that whoever it was probably just headed inside before Steve and Will had arrived. How Jonathan and Argyle thought that they were discrete was beyond him. He’d seen the long-suffering expression on Hopper’s face as Joyce laughed behind one hand last time he was over at the same time as Argyle. Truly, it was Hawkins’ worst best kept secret.

Only when Joyce Byers swung open the front door and dragged him inside did he realize that he’d been gotten hook line and sinker by baby Byers. The Byers in question stands at the door looking down at the ground to hide his expression, but Steve can see his shoulders shaking in laughter.

“Oh, Steve, I’m so glad you’re here. Go wash your hands. Can you help me get drinks for everyone? Thank you so much, honey.” Joyce’s grip on his upper arms is iron-grip as she ushers him toward the kitchen, ever the world wind. Her hair has been thrown up into a ponytail that is obviously hours old and falling apart. Mentally, he adds a note to his notebook saying to keep clips in his glovebox. Steve is still wide-eyed and still staring over his shoulder at Will who has just roped him into joining the Hopper-Byers for dinner. 

Before he knows it, the table is set and everyone is loading their plates with what look like tiny little pastries or cakes. He has genuinely no idea what these are, but Argyle and Jonathan have been left to their own devices in the kitchen all day, so he’s sure it’ll taste good. Everyone knows that Jonathan is the chef of the family, no matter what Joyce and Hopper said. Everyone has a glass of juice, which Steve had poured, and a small rock sitting beside their plate, courtesy of El. For some reason.

Will and El sit next to each other, bracketed on either side by their parents. The kitchen table in the kitchen fits all seven of them, but it’s a tight squeeze that has him sitting a lot closer to Hopper than he’d regularly hope to be. Every time Hopper moves to use his knife, his shoulder rubs against Steve’s. It’s not necessarily unpleasant, but it all makes him feel a little claustrophobic, especially with how loud dinners at the cabin tend to be.

Joyce and Jonathan are shouting a conversation at each other over the sound of Will and El chattering on beside each other. Argyle, for some stoned reason, is singing the same verse from Madonna’s ‘Live to Tell’ at a slightly unreasonable volume from his place next to Joyce. Hopper looks to all the world like he’s a million miles away sitting at a quiet table and eating his dinner in peace. Hopper calls it ‘putting on his dad ears’ and says Steve will learn it in time if he keeps hanging out with preteens and Robin in his spare time.

Halfway through his first plate of food, Steve stands up, trying to be discrete as he walks across the room to see what time it is. When he turns around, Argyle has paused his singing and is staring directly at Steve with a confused look on his half-lidded face. He slowly tilts his head to the side in question causing a loose strand of hair to fall over his shoulder from where it’s escaped his ever-present visor. Steve shrugs, feeling strangely bashful, and gestures at the alarm clock Hopper keeps on top of the fridge. Argyle’s head tilts the other way.

“Did you forget your glasses or something, dude?” Now it’s Steve’s turn to feel confused. 

“What?” He asks kind of dumbly. Will looks up at him with a scrunched-up face having just caught the tail-end of Argyle’s question.

“Steve doesn’t wear glasses,” Will says, but it sounds more like a question now that he's noticed him standing there on the other side of the room.

“Oh,” Argyle hums and chews slowly at a bite of his strange meat pie. By the time he swallows and speaks up again Steve is very nearly back at his seat. “I just– did you just walk across the whole room just to check the time?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“That’s what you were doing over there?” Jonathan pipes up, leaving his conversation with his mother like it was nothing.

“You can’t see the clock from the table?” El asks neutrally.

“You can?” Steve furrows his brow and grins in that funny way he does before he starts teasing someone. “You got superhuman sight now too, wonder twin?”

“It is 8:11.” She says simply with a small uptick at the corners of her mouth. “I think I am not the only one who can read the clock, though.”

“I can definitely read that little thing from here, yeah.” Argyle drawls, propping his chin lazily on his hands.

“Honey, are you feeling okay? Hop, check his temperature. Hop. Hop!” Joyce leans across the table to flop a hand onto Steve’s forehead, while El shoves her dad back into the land of the living.

“What’s the matter?” Hopper drops his fork onto his plate with a clatter that makes El grimace and shove him again. 

“Steve says he can’t read the kitchen clock from the table,” Jonathan says, not looking away from Steve with that weird searching gaze of his.

“Is something wrong with you?” Hop looks down at him, a strange look on his face. With all the attention, Steve feels his face heat up considerably.

“Hey, there’s no shame, man,” Argyle holds out his hands placatingly, completely misreading the situation. “My mom wears glasses. No shame.”

“Oh my god, no.” Steve groans and covers his face. “That’s not what I’m– I don’t wear glasses. I don’t need glasses. I’ve never needed them.”

“Have you ever gotten your eyes checked?” Will asks quietly around a swig of juice. Steve picks up his own cup just to have something to do with his hands.

“Yeah, yeah. My parents took me to get my eyes tested in Junior High when my teachers complained about my reading. Saw tons of specialists about it. 20/20 vision, it turns out, but I’ve got that new dyslexia thing, I guess.”

“But you haven’t been checked since?” Hopper asks.

“Never needed to be.” 

“Is there a history of eye problems in your family? Maybe we should make you an appointment.” Joyce follows up. Trust Joyce Byers to think he has time for a doctor’s appointment when he’s still working full-time and trying to close hell-portals in whatever gime he has leftover to spare. El looks like she’s taking notes in her mind. 

“Not really. My grandparents wear readers, but everyone else is fine. It’s fine guys, I promise. Must be some weird-- I don’t know--” And, honestly, god bless Jonathan for recognizing that a subject change is in order because Steve’s starting to feel prickly around the shoulders in the way he tends to before a fight. Abruptly the interrogation switches toward Joyce as Jonathan wonders loudly when he and Will had last had their eyes checked. No, they aren’t having issues, mom, but it’s important.

Hopper fixes him with a steady look that makes Steve want to crawl out of his chair and hide under the table. It appears this topic is not going to be dropped as easily as he hoped. Argyle fucking winks at him from where he sits next to Joyce.

Chapter Text

Steve wakes up in the morning to the sound of honking coming from the street in front of his house. In other words, Steve wakes up and immediately finds himself in a bad mood. His room is hot and stuffy since he forgot to open his window before crashing last night after getting back from the cabin. With maybe a bit more force than necessary, Steve yanks his blinds up, enjoying the way they clatter against the upper ledge of his window. He nearly yanks the window crank off with the force he uses to thrust it open.

As soon as the window is open, Steve can clearly hear the sound of someone yelling his name below and– is that the Rocky soundtrack? If he’s being honest with himself, Steve would quite literally rather be fucking shot in the head than woken up like this ever again. He runs a rough hand through his hair, accidentally yanking a couple of strands out in the process which only serves to make him more annoyed.

“What the fuck do you want?” He shouts down at the car. If his vision were any better he might have been able to tell who’s car it is, but all he can make out is the yellow smudge below, which really should have been answer enough. Only when the driver’s side door opens does Steve realize who the horrifically colourful smudge is outside. “Argyle!?”

“Hey, man!” Argyle, Steve assumes, cups his hands around his mouth to shout up at him. “Mind letting me in, dude? I’ve been out here for so long.”

Okay. Okay, deep breaths, Harrington. Steve grits his teeth uncomfortably in a scowl and shakes his pillow for an embarrassing second as though he’s wringing someone’s neck. He doesn’t bother to get dressed before opening the front door, but he does spend the walk there counting his breathing like he’s seen Robin do and punching his thigh.

Steve wrenches the door open. He’s very poorly hiding the scowl on his face. As soon as the door opens, Argyle speedwalks up to meet him. In the small amount of time that Steve has known Argyle, he’s learned that this man is exceptionally touchy, which is how Steve, irritated and exhausted, finds himself getting pulled in for a side hug so intense he’s nearly knocked flat on his ass. Behind Argyle at a much more reasonable pace, Eddie and Jonathan walk up to Steve’s front door.

Steve raises an eyebrow at the travel mugs balanced precariously in Eddie’s arms. Eddie grins wolfishly and shakes his head with a fond eyeroll. Jonathan is holding a huge book stuffed with loose pictures and papers between the pages.

“Good morning, man,” Argyle says, drawing out the words from where he’s decided to bury his face in Steve’s neck. 

“Why are you all here this early,” Steve says, voice bland and doing nothing to hide his annoyance.

“It’s noon,” Jonathan answers instead, fingers leafing through the inserts in his book. True to form, Jonathan looks like he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in 20 years, and his hair is the shaggiest thing Steve has ever seen. 

“I brought coffees” Eddie adds helpfully. He tries to lift his arms up to gesture at the coffee, but only succeeds in nearly tumbling all of the mugs to the ground. The travel mugs are mismatched as though cobbled together from the back of someone’s kitchen cabinet– which is actually likely what’s happened. “The coffee is from me. The travel mugs are from the Byers, so…”

“Damn, and here I thought we were starting our day drinking early.” Steve rolls his eyes and moves himself and Argyle out of the doorway to allow the other men access to his house.

“It’s still noon.” Jonathan intones, already toeing off his shoes even though he’s barely in the foyer. Eddie, as Eddie tends to do, keeps his chunky boots on as he manoeuvres his way down the hall to the kitchen. Argyle’s hair smells like the discount shampoo and conditioner being sold at the front of the grocery store Joyce Byers works at. Steve distantly wonders how long the guy is going to stay in Hawkins and how he hasn’t lost his delivery job by now. Argyle’s huge yellow van is parked half up on his front lawn in a way he knows his dad would despise. The thought of his father makes Steve feel twitchy.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Steve asks as he begins the lengthy process of untangling Argyle from around his shoulders. He almost misses the contact before he remembers that he’s irritated.

“Oh, that’s all me.” Argyle uses his free hand to reach inside the pocket of his red overalls. He makes a triumphant noise as he unveils a sandwich bag filled with pot. “My cousin sent me some good shit, and I have found myself in a giving mood.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yessssss,” Argyle hisses the S as he flounces after Eddie. Jonathan and Steve stand alone for a moment at the entrance to Steve’s house, watching the other men disappear into his house. Jonathan’s fingers have found their prize: a crumpled piece of paper which he pulls out of his book to give to Steve alongside a glossy photograph. The piece of paper has Joyce’s writing scrawled across half of it. Alongside the scribbled-out items on Joyce’s grocery list is the number and address of one Dr. LaValle. Joyce has written a simple ‘yes, he’s open!’ next to the name as if she could see into the future to read Steve’s mind. 

“Mom says she does glasses for cheap if you’re under 25,” Jonathan explains, pushing his floppy bangs out of his eyes for the thirtieth time since he’s walked into the house. Things are always weird when Jonathan and Steve are alone– the remnants of weird tension lingering in the unspoken form of Nancy– but it’s been easier between the two. Steve can share a room with the other man without feeling like he needs to get up and pace or fill the silence. 

“I thought I was clear last night when I said that I don’t need glasses,”

“Well, just in case you wanted to check it out. It’s an option,” Jonathan shrugs and then slips the photograph out from under the crumpled paper, gently placing it on top for Steve to look at. It’s a photo of Steve’s car, the windows unrolled with an exasperated Steve sitting in the front seat, arm resting on the windowsill. In the back of the car, El and Will fall over themselves to smile widely at Jonathan behind the camera, wildly waving their hands and nearly smacking each other in the process. Steve crumples the doctor’s information into a ball and shoves it in his pocket, but carries the photograph to the fridge with a sort of reverence he’d never admit to.

“El thought it was funny. She thought you’d like it,” Jonathan explains as Steve secures the photo to his fridge with a little bird-shaped magnet Robin had gotten him for his birthday. It finds a new home alongside Dustin’s report card, a drawing of Will’s D&D character, and a few other photos of various members of the party.

“Tell her thank you for me?”

“Sure.” Jonathan nods absentmindedly and tosses his book onto Steve’s counter. A white travel mug finds its way into Steve’s now empty hands. The smell of coffee is enough to make a small amount of tension leave his shoulders only to be replaced when Eddie slings an arm over Steve’s shoulder, face far too close to Steve’s.

“Well, shall we?” He grins, not moving away from Steve to take a long swig of his own travel mug. “I wasn’t kidding when I said this was coffee, but I did put some Baileys in here.” Eddie stage whispers, covering his face with his coffee mug like he’s telling Steve a secret. Steve thinks about how Eddie’s breath smells like Coffee for a second too long to be considered friendly.

“My hero,” He drawls, hiding his flush behind a long drink of coffee. It’s still hot enough to be uncomfortable on his throat, but the cream definitely helps. Eddie rubs a few circles into his shoulder before pulling him to the living room where Argyle has set himself up with a rolling tray and the scissors from Steve’s cutlery drawer. Eddie immediately untangles himself from Steve to argue with Argyle about using scissors. Argyle swears it works just as well as pulling the bud apart with his fingers, which makes Eddie’s jaw drop. A metal cylinder finds its way out of Eddie’s jacket pocket.

“Oh, that works too, man. To each their own, you know?” Argyle grins as he plucks the grinder out of Eddie’s hand. “I used to use these, but didn’t like thinking about how much I was wasting that got stuck in the little teeth there.”

“So you use your fingers?” Eddie rubs a hand down his face, accidentally pushing his bangs off to the sides in a funny middle part.

“He’s ridiculous,” Jonathan says, smile hidden behind a fist. He elbows Steve in the side and nods toward Argyle, “He left his at my house just to see if he could get a rise out of Munson.”

“No shit?”

“Ridiculous.”

“Hey! Steve Harrington,” Argyle calls over to him as though he’s across the street not four feet away from him. 

“...Yes, Argyle?”

“Can we toke indoors here, man?” Argyle gestures the joints he’s rolled at him like they’re magic wands. Steve brings one hand up to grip his jaw in thought, attempting the mental math that is his parent’s schedule. For the life of him, he can barely even remember the date let alone when they’ll be back from their next trip. He glares up at the ceiling.

“Uh.” They could smoke inside as long as there was enough time to air out the house before they came back, but it was hard to make that timeline when he couldn’t even remember what city they were in. He brought his hand away from his jaw to dig his nails into the back of his neck where his hair would cover the marks. “Um.”

“Let’s go outside. It’s nice out there anyways.” Eddie cut in, talking to Argyle, but looking at Steve. Jonathan plopped down across from Argyle to help him roll the last of four joints as Eddie stood up and walked over to Steve. “Everything alright there, Harrington?” 

Steve hummed, moving his hand from the back of his neck to run through his hair. He needed a shower. He took another long pull from his coffee mug. Only then did he realize that He was still in his flannel pyjamas and a huge t-shirt he’d stolen from his father’s dresser to wear at night. The other three were dressed– if one could call the cacophony of colour that Argyle was wearing ‘dressed’. Eddie’s hand came up to grab Steve’s wrist, pulling his hand away from where he’d started subconsciously tugging at his hair.

“Harrington?”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. I’m okay, I just realized I’m not dressed. Got distracted.” Steve shook his wrist from Eddie’s grasp, “I’m just gonna–”

When he returned downstairs, the guys were sitting outside leaning against the wall next to the sliding glass doors. The sun beating down on them from above had Eddie and Jonathan shedding layers, sitting in t-shirts with their jackets in a pile in front of them.

“I’m just saying, man, if this is what you consider hot, you’d burst into flames on the coast.” Argyle is leaning fully against Jonathan’s chest with his joint held loosely between his fingers. When he notices him, he lolls his head back further against the other boy to greet Steve. “Steve, man! Welcome to the party! Hope you aren’t upset, but Jonathan and I have already gotten started. This gentleman waited up for you though.”

Eddie wiggles his fingers in a wave, cheeks tinted red from the heat. His hair has been shoved behind one ear, showing off the joints he’s pushed behind his ear like a pencil. There’s a collection of hair ties on his wrist that Steve stares at for long enough that Munson raises an eyebrow at him. Instead of responding to anyone, Steve takes a seat in the space left for him between Argyle and Eddie. To distract himself from the way Eddie’s t-shirt sleeves have been rolled up to his shoulders, Steve leans forward and plucks a single joint from Eddie’s hair.

“Attaboy, man. You seemed tense earlier. Nothing better for ya when the emotions get loud than a puff, right?” Argyle says, tilting his head back to wiggle his eyebrows at Jonathan. Steve wonders if he’s the only one noticing how close the boys’ faces are. Jonathan pats Argyle’s cheek and looks away to take another puff– trying not to get any fallen ash on Argyle’s face or hair.

“Wait, me?” Steve says, finally catching up with Argyle’s sentence. 

“Yeah you, man. You doing alright?”

“You did literally scream at us from your bedroom window earlier,” Jonathan says, fixing that beady little stare on him. It makes Steve’s knuckles burn, but he’s pretty sure it’ll just prove whatever the hell they’re talking about if he starts punching the concrete underneath him. Instead of giving in to the impulse, he lights the joint in his mouth, holding the flame a moment too long so that it flickers over the pad of his thumb. Eddie makes a small sound beside him, reaching over to grab Steve’s hand again. This time he intertwines their fingers instead of simply grabbing Steve’s wrist.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s not necessarily a pleasant wake-up call to be woken up by a car honking directly below my window. And was that Survivor? I could hear you blasting it through my window, dude.” Steve grumbles, sliding down slightly against the wall to pout as he continues sucking on the joint between his lips. When he crosses his arms across his chest hastily, he drags Eddie’s hand alongside it, only registering their held hands as Eddie’s rings clack against his chest.

“Sure, sure! I’m just saying, it looked like we came at the right time.” Argyle flaps his hand dismissively in Steve’s direction, pointedly ignoring the way it makes Steve twitch. Eddie starts tapping a pattern against Steve’s chest with one of his rings. When Steve doesn’t immediately relax, he sticks the joint in his mouth and leans forward to maneuver Steve against his chest, mirroring the other boys across from them.

Desperate for a break in tension, Jonathan taps loose ash onto the ground and regards Steve.

“Your hair’s gotten longer than the last time I saw you.” The sudden change in subject makes Steve's brow furrow further but succeeds in shocking a small smile onto his face.

“You’re one to talk with that mop of yours, Jonathan. You’re coming for my title.” Steve jokes, allowing himself to melt into Eddie as the haze of pot takes its hold on his brain. Jonathan blushes.

“He’s right, man, your hair’s probably long enough to braid now.” Argyle giggles, already most of the way through his own joint.

“Now that’s something I’d like to see.” Eddie grins, his voice rumbling a bit against the back of Steve’s head. “Hey, if we made them small enough, I’d bet money that we could wrangle Steve some braids of his own.”

“Not a chance in hell, Munson.” Steve smiles up at Eddie. “If John and I get braids, you and Argyle get them too. Them’s the breaks.”

“Deal!” Argyle crows, sitting up so quickly that he almost cracks his forehead into Jonathan’s nose. Steve can tell John is high by the way he bursts out laughing instead of flinching away from Argyle.

“Do any of you even know how to braid” Steve teases, bringing Eddie and his joined hands up to his mouth to relight. 

“Do you?” Eddie challenges, staring intensely at how close their hands are to Steve’s face.

“Who do you take me for? Of course, I know how to braid.” 

“Where’d you learn?”

Steve blushes, “Mrs. Wheeler taught me how when Holly would only stop crying if she was sitting with me. I used to do Nancy’s hair every once in a while, but those skills are mostly reserved for Max these days. Erica won’t let me touch her hair.”

“Cute,” Eddie says, quietly as though the thought was meant to stay in his brain. Steve’s train of thought fizzles out at the look in Eddie’s eyes.

“I know how to braid too, c’mon. Let’s get these boys prettied up, Steve-o” Argyle pulls at Jonathan’s shirt and shoulders until they’ve swapped positions with Argyle behind Jonathan. Already, Argyle’s hands are tugging at Jonathan’s hair, pulling knots loose while the roach dangles freely from his lips. He looks so immediately focused that Steve almost bursts out laughing. Definitely high now. Taking that as his cue, Eddie drops Steve’s hand to mirror Jonathan. He leans back slightly as Steve rises to his knees behind him.

“French, Dutch, or regular?” Steve asks.

“You're kidding,” Eddie says. Steve giggles slightly.

“I am. I’m not that talented. French it is.”

“Sorry, you just said you weren’t talented and then implied that the only braid you know how to do is a French braid? In the same sentence?” Eddie says, leaning into Steve’s touch as he starts combing through his hair. “ I’m definitely not attempting braids on you, man. Argyle will have to do it I’ll just embarrass myself.”

“It’s honestly not as hard as it looks.”

 “You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

Steve never thought that the words ‘Eddie Munson’ and ‘adorable’ could ever fit in the same sentence, but he has to hand it to himself– even high he can do some good french braids. His hair is surprisingly thick so the braids are dense where they fall over his shoulders and the short bangs he’d tried to finagle into the braids have already started falling out in little wisps around Eddie’s eyebrows. If Steve hadn’t muddled his way through a sexuality crisis on the floor of Robin’s kitchen at 3 in the morning last year, he’s sure the sight would launch him immediately into a crisis.

Eddie’s eyes are red and half-lidded with a goofy smile adorning his lips. The second joint that he and Steve are sharing sits between his ring-clad fingers. Argyle cheers appreciatively from behind Steve, gripping his face and forcefully turning his head away from Eddie to look at his reflection in the sliding door. He looks stupid. One thing is for sure, while Eddie and even Argyle can pull off braids, Steve and Jonathan just don’t suit it. 

Before Steve can ruffle the tiny Pippi Longstocking braids out of his hair, Jonathan is running faster than he’s ever seen him move through Steve’s side gate. He comes skidding to a stop moments later, camera in hand from where he’s dug it out of Argyle’s van.

“We have to take a picture,” Jonathan says between pants of breath. After some convincing, the boys crowd together behind Jonathan with grins painted on. Argyle holds one braid up to show it off to the camera. One of Eddie’s hands rests on top of Steve’s head as though he’s attempting to hold the other man still. Steve swears Jonathan to secrecy later as he convinces him to take a solo picture of Eddie to give to Steve later. 

By the time Jonathan has sobered up enough to drive the van home, Eddie has passed out on the deck of Steve’s pool. He’ll be shocked if he doesn’t wake up with a sunburn tomorrow. Steve promises to take care of him as he escorts the other two to the door feeling much better than he did when he first woke up. Argyle leans over to slip one last joint into Steve’s back pocket while Jonathan collects his book from the kitchen.

“At least think about making an appointment, yeah? It wouldn’t hurt to get checked out. Best case scenario it’s nothing,” Jonathan says and pats him on the back.

“I’ll think about it,” Steve says after a long hesitant breath, “But no promises.”

“Thanks for smoking with me, man, glad it helped,” Argyle reaches around Jonathan to pat Steve on top of the head. “See you later, crocodile, or whatever.”

Steve laughs, clapping both the boys on the shoulders once more as they finally leave. He breathes out a sigh while his fingers come up to lock the front door.

“Make an appointment for what?” Eddie’s voice comes from behind him suddenly, causing him to twist around with a scream barely dying in his throat.

“ Jesus Christ, Munson! Warn a guy next time!” Steve holds a hand to his pounding heart. Eddie smirks.

“Big bad Steve spooked by little ol’ me? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“It’s like you’ve walked straight out of my nightmares” Steve deadpans.

“But seriously, what was John talking about? Are you doing okay?” Eddie’s hand twitches as though he’s just able to stop himself from reaching out.

“It’s nothing, really. I couldn’t read the clock very well at the cabin yesterday and now the whole Byers-Hopper brigade thinks I’m going blind.” Steve jokes, rolling his eyes. “That clock is tiny, honestly it’s a wonder any of them can even read it like they claim to be able to.”

“Huh,” 

“Yeah, no big deal,”

“D’you maybe want to test it?”

“What do you mean?”

“What does the sign on your neighbour's lawn say there?” Eddie asks. One hand comes up to gesture at the house across from Steve’s which can be seen through the windows framing the door.

“As if I can read that! It’s tiny, okay?”

“Steve. Harrington. Sweetheart.” Eddie looks at him like he'd grown another head. “It’s a political ad for Reagan. That particular neighbour appears to have started campaigning early.”

“How can you read that? It’s so tiny over there,” Steve frowns.

“Not far enough that I can’t read it. 20/20, baby,” Eddie brings his hands up around his eyes like glasses. “I never would’ve believed it if I hadn’t seen it, but y’know what I’m with Jonny boy on this one. Maybe making an appointment wouldn’t be the worst idea?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll look into it when I have time next. I’m not exactly the freest bird on the planet at this very moment, am I?”

“I can take El on your next shift if you’d like! I haven’t seen that little munchkin in ages.” Eddie holds up his hands like an olive branch while Steve ignores the feeling of his face breaking out into a fond smile.

“Sure, I’ll think about it, Munson,” Steve says finally, “By the way, I hope you’re alright with crashing in my room. I’m not planning on going out tonight now that I’ve been given one last goodie from Argyle. I have guest rooms that I can clear out if you’d be more comfortable, but they’re kind of filled with random shit my parents leave here. We don’t get guests very often.”

“Okay. Slumber party it is. Hope you like getting your nails painted, Harrington.” The golden glow of the sun made Eddie’s eyes sparkle in a way that makes Steve feel out of breath.

“Sure, I’ll show you where my mother’s makeup is. Feel free to raid the place, honestly. Anything she’s left here is obviously never going to be used.”

“You’re on,” Eddie’s braids bounce on his shoulders as he runs up the steps. Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. Now, what the hell was he supposed to do? He’s fairly certain he’s falling for Eddie Munson. If he makes it through the night it will be an honest to god miracle.

Chapter Text

Steve tries so hard to be cool about the fact that he’s sharing a bed with Eddie Munson that he circles around back into ‘awkward’ territory. Thankfully, both of them are a bit too stoned to overthink much about anything. Steve gets Eddie situated in the living room with a change of clothes and enough pillows and blankets to make a fort while he heads into the kitchen to find something to feed the both of them. It’s been a while since he’s had time to buy groceries, what with the interdimensional rift that’s shot clean through the deli section, but he manages to scrounge up some pasta and a can of red sauce from the pantry. 

By the time Steve is walking back into the living room with two steaming bowls of pasta, Eddie has created a nest on the floor and found the little box of nail polish that his mother kept in the master bathroom. He digs through the box, lightly clacking the bottles together as he places them on the floor in front of him. His legs are crossed underneath him with those braids hanging down slightly, stubborn bangs fully escaped.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Eddie asks, not looking up at Steve as he looks over a purple bottle. Steve sits down across from him on the blanket nest and places one bowl of pasta next to the nail polish.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Steve says. He’s already started digging into his pasta, not realizing until that very moment that he’s starving. With the appearance of Jon, Eddie, and Argyle he’d completely forgotten to eat.

“Nail polish,” Eddie says simply with an air of normalcy so strong it must be forced. Somehow Steve feels like they’re having a very different conversation that he’s just not picking up on.

“What? No, I don’t mind. Robin and Nancy do their nails all the time?” 

“Okay, well, we’re different than Robin and Nancy aren’t we? I mean, you don’t have to have nail polish if you don’t want to, but does it weird you out if I do mine.”

“Oh,” Steve points his fork at Eddie. He swallows a mouthful of pasta, “No, I don’t care. I can’t paint my own nails, but you can paint mine if you want. When Max stays over she does it sometimes. I don’t have black though– You seem a black nail polish kind of guy.” Steve must have said the right thing, because Eddie cracks a smile, setting the purple shade aside presumably to use later.

“You’ve got me pegged there, Harrington. Black is my go-to, but I’m not afraid of a little colour,” He says. “Honestly, I’d be kind of shocked if you did have black. I can’t really picture Mrs. Harrington as the type.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. When she was our age, way before she met my dad, she went through this wild rebellious phase.” Steve laughs around his fork. When he looks up, Eddie has his chin resting on his hand displaying his freshly painted nails. “What?”

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Oh, sure.” It’s such a small thing, but Steve finds himself thrown by the suddenness of the question.

“I still want to do your nails,” Eddie explains, obviously catching onto the confusion on Steve’s face. He brings one finger up to tap the tip of Steve’s nose. Steve grins as he rises to pick out a movie. “What colour do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

“Wanna match?”

“Sure,” Steve can’t help the smile that stretches across his face. “I didn’t think to grab anything from work, so whatevers on TV will have to do. S’that cool?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie said, patting the seat Steve had just vacated as soon as the TV has crackled to life. 

Steve doesn’t even remember what they end up watching. He somehow always forgets until the moment it’s happened, but Steve has always had a thing about getting his nails painted. It doesn’t bother him, No. It’s the opposite. Nancy tried to read into it once– something about skin hunger (which sounded horrific), but it went so far over Steve’s head that it had never come up again.

The gentle touch on his hands has always been so calming to him. Anytime the girls have done it, it’s been enough to nearly lull him into a trance. With Eddie, it should be no different, but the comfortable atmosphere, full stomach, and haze of weed settle him. It definitely has nothing to do with how Steve’s palm is resting on Eddie’s thigh, or how Eddie keeps manipulating his fingers into better positions with the care of someone handling fine china. It only takes three nails to make Steve start nodding off. 

He awakens to the sound of a laugh track coming from the TV. Onscreen, Dorothy makes some comments about Blanche which leave Rose scandalized. Steve blinks blearily at the dark room, turning his head against the warmth he’s resting on. As he tilts his head up, a puff of air pushes his hair slightly into his eyes. He finds that he can’t move his hand to push it out of his eyes, however. It’s only at this realization does Steve slowly panic. 

In the dark of the room, he can’t tell what has trapped him, but suddenly he’s under Starcourt mall with an aching face and a pit of guilt in his stomach. They’ve tied down his arms so that he can’t move properly, and it’s so fucking hot in the bunker. He flexes his fingers, feeling faint as his breath stutters quickly in his chest. Someone grips his shoulders tightly and Steve flinches away. He hears himself make an embarrassing sound. His hands come up to tangle in his hair, tugging harshly. His hands– He moved his hands.

The twinge of pain in his scalp grounds him enough to realize that there’s a light on now. He blinks his eyes owlishly, looking directly into the eyes of Eddie Munson who is currently crouched in front of Steve, hands hovering between them with panic on his face. 

“ –Eve? Steve, hey, can you hear me? It’s okay, you’re okay. Can you take some deep breaths?” Eddie’s voice sounds reedy in Steve’s ears. Even in this state, he knows he’s ridiculous for the concern that blossoms in his chest. He’s having a panic attack in front of the man, of course he’s going to be upset. “I won’t touch you again, I promise.”

Steve blinks a few more times. Slowly, his hands loosen their grip on his hair. After what could be hours or days, Steve’s breathing evens out to match Eddie’s. Throughout it all, Eddie has stayed crouched in front of him, his expression slowly smoothing out once he notices that he has Steve’s attention.

“Um,” Steve’s voice cracks. He clears his throat, “Sorry.”

“Hey, no sorry necessary, dude. I should be the one apologizing for grabbing you like that. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Steve says simply. He’s sure that if he tries full sentences he’ll make a fool of himself. Even without a mirror, he knows that he’s flushed red with embarrassment. The last time he’s had a panic attack in front of someone else was a year ago the night after Starcourt in Robin’s twin-sized bed. They’d been through enough in such a short time together that it should have made sense that their nightmares would sync up. They’d awoken in the dark and spent the rest of the night holding each other and taking turns hyperventilating.

“Do you want to talk about it? I could be wrong, but that, um, doesn’t really seem like someone who’s ‘fine’” Eddie does air quotes around the words. Of course, Eddie does air quotes around the word. Steve wants to pretend this hasn’t happened. He wants to jostle his shoulder in a friendly way and tease him for being a nerd for no reason. He wants to go back to getting his nails painted. More than anything, he wants to go to sleep.

Falling asleep has never been an issue. He knew Mike and Nancy both had insomnia that would keep them up until the crack of dawn unable to sleep despite their exhaustion. It wasn’t something Steve could relate to. Falling asleep came easy– it was staying asleep that was impossible after these past years. No matter how late or early he fell asleep, he somehow found himself waking up like clockwork a maximum of five hours later. It was grating. He knew that the cat nap he’d had earlier absolutely fucked himself over too– once he’d woken up, there was no way he was falling back asleep. The Golden Girls was playing so he must’ve had at least an hour and a half of rest. He’d become very familiar with the late-night TV schedule.

Eddie snaps his fingers in front of Steve’s face. 

“Hey, you in there? I asked if you wanted to talk about it.” Eddie repeats, voice only slightly wavering with concern.

“No. No, I’m okay. I’m not used to, um, being touched. Sorry that I freaked you out.”

“No worries, man. I’m so sorry I touched you earlier, I didn’t think. I’ll– I’ll stop, uh, doing that.” Eddie’s eyes flicked down the ground. Steve watched the nails of one hand come up to the other to start picking off the fresh nail polish. Steve gently took one of Eddie’s hands, ducking his head to catch the other man’s eye.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that, I promise. Touch is still okay with me. I just get a bit jumpy if I’m touched while panicking, but that whole thing doesn’t happen often enough to worry. I’ve got it under wraps, Munson, no need to worry that pretty head of yours.” Slipping back to caregiver mode feels safe and familiar. He smiles warmly and uses his free hand to gently pat the side of Eddie’s face. This has been weird. He’s made things weird. “What say you we take this up to bed?”

“Wow, how forward. I suppose you did buy me dinner first, Harrington.” Eddie finally grins, dragging the tail end of one of his braids up to cover his smile. Steve feels nauseous with how endearing it is.

“Excuse me, I cooked that, I’ll have you know,”

“Now that I don’t believe! I could have sworn it was made by the Harrington family’s very own personal chef,” Eddie joked, laughing away from Steve’s playful swat. The boys filled their arms with the blankets they’d been resting on and dragged themselves up the stairs to Steve’s room.

Eddie had been over before in the weeks since the Upside Down, but somehow every time he was over he found some new aspect of Steve’s personal life to snicker at. This time, it was the Scoops Ahoy hat at the top of his closet. It was usually covered by the very blankets and pillows in their arms now– blankets which Eddie readily threw in the general direction of the bed so that he could retrieve the hat. He plopped it on top of his head. With the braids and hat combined, he looked ridiculous. It made Steve’s chest hurt.

Things were confusing with Eddie, but they were also so easy. Even in the Upside Down as he tried to maintain his jealous irritation, Eddie made him laugh. It was hard not to match his energy. With a jaw-cracking yawn, Eddie starts situating the blankets onto the bed. His rings find their home in a pile on Steve’s nightstand. One hand comes up to wag in Steve’s direction, gesturing for him to get started on his routine.

If the past few years have shown him anything, they’ve shown him that he needs routine to function. In particular, if he ever wants any hope of falling asleep like a normal person any time soon, Steve values his nighttime routine. He feels like he’s tried it all: nighttime runs, stretches after he’s initially woken up, the lavender sleep oil Mrs. Henderson had given to him last time he’d shown up at her house with eyebags the size of Texas. He’d even given a brief go at taking sleeping pills, but they only succeeded in giving him one extremely good blissful eight hours of sleep before turning around to make every other night worse. 

By the time Steve has showered, brushed his teeth, and applied Mrs. Henderson’s lavender oil to his temples, Eddie has fully fallen asleep in Steve’s bed. The blankets they’d carried upstairs have not moved from their large pile, now with Eddie buried in the middle of them. There’s a spot in the nest that Steve can picture himself climbing into. It makes a fond smile creep its way onto Steve’s cheeks that he hides uselessly behind a hand. He almost climbs in next to him in the space so purposefully left for him. Almost.

As Steve wanders his room quietly gathering up an assortment of items, he thinks of the last times he’s shared a bed with someone just to sleep. For the first few months, Robin’s twin bed became a shared space for the two of them until they’d recognized their codependency and declared at least nighttime apart from each other. It was surprisingly (unsurprisingly) hard to go back to an empty house with an empty bed after sharing with her for so long. 

Before that, the memory of the couch by Dustin’s front window, if he can count a couch as a bed. It had been late that night when he’d driven Dustin home and Mrs. Henderson had all but swore she’d call the cops on him if he got behind the wheel when he could barely stand upright. She’d made up the couch for him to sleep (lie awake) in, and as soon as she’d closed her door and turned off her light, Dustin crept down the hall. It was one of the best nights of sleep Steve had ever had, laying on that couch with Dustin draped entirely on top of his chest.

Anything earlier than this moment resides cleanly in the part of Steve’s memory that he tries to forget. In this space, Steve has a childhood nightmare. He used to get them regularly. Seeing comfort, he continuously tries to sneak into his parent's bed, but his father had always been a light sleeper. Most nights, he’d stumble groggily to his parent's room and barely make it onto the mattress before his father was gripping him by the shoulders, steering him back to his dark room with a stern ‘It was just a dream, Steven. Grow up.”

Even still these days, Steve doesn’t dream. He’s never really considered nightmares dreams. If he ‘dreams’, he dreams of gore, monsters, vines, and holding dying children in his arms. He dreams of Nancy– of Robin– of Eddie. He dreams of blood and bone and Dustin tripping in those tunnels, but not standing up– never standing up– never safe. But tonight, Steve doesn’t dream. 

Steve’s bedroom is pitch black now that he’s turned off the light to his en suite. The only light guiding his busywork around his room comes from the pale moon shining through the slats of his blinds. It used to be eerie, but it’s something he’s grown long acquainted with as he lays in bed unable to sleep. Steve sighs into the still quiet of his bedroom. At least he’d gotten a strong six hours of sleep the night before after his dinner at the cabin. 

As quietly as he can, Steve grabs his walkman with a random tape from the top of his pile as well as a magazine from his dresser. This late at night his main source of TV-related entertainment usually ends up being the late late news, which can get boring and repetitive after a while. He really thinks he should pick up a hobby. Maybe Mrs. Henderson can teach him to knit or something. He shakes his head, and takes his stash out of the room, missing the way Eddie cracks open his eyelids and watches him leave.

He has a long night ahead of him.

Maybe before, he would have gone for a drive in the dark, seeing how far he could drive before his tired eyes stopped being able to read the speed limit signs. Now though, he can’t reason away the price of gas. He’s read this magazine before, and he’s tired of seeing the same four news stories told again and again because no one actually watches the 1 AM news. He pops his headphones over his ears, sliding the cassette into place. His fingers turn the volume knob to full, letting the jarring synth and drum beats of Mr. Mister’s Black/White infiltrate his brain. 

He stops by the laundry room in the basement– another facet of his house that used to scare him before he became actually acquainted with the things that go bump in the night. From the drier, he pulls a sweater so loud with its colour blocking that it must have been something Robin had worn here and forgotten. Her mom still couldn’t get a handle on the current trends. Steve wonders quietly when Robin’s wardrobe and his became so weirdly intertwined. He takes off the headphones for just enough time to pull the sweater over his head and tug on a pair of blue jeans.

He scribbles a note onto the pad he keeps in the kitchen out of habit just in case Eddie wakes up and wonders where he is. In no time, Steve has walked out his front door, sneakers barely on his feet and keys jingling as he shoves them in his pocket.

The night air is slightly chilly against his cheeks in a way that makes him feel alive. While he hates most things about his stupid suburban neighbourhood, he’s always loved how everything shuts down. Every house on the block has its door locked and lights turned off by 9 o’clock. Everything is quiet and still. It’s a nice kind of alone to wander the silent dark streets lit only by the streetlights that light the sidewalk every 150 feet. 

Steve keeps his mind busy as he walks, listening to his cassette or taking in his surroundings intently so that he doesn’t have to think about himself. Four houses down from his own, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips have left their garage door open. He wonders if they know. He wonders if it would be strange to close it for them. His legs decide for him as they continue walking straight past. 

His mind seems to enter this strange in-between space at a certain point where he’s aware of his surroundings but feels off somehow. Nothing has changed outwardly– it just feels a little bit like he’s become untethered. His mind has taken a fuzzy backseat as his body takes the reins, waking him forward and forward and forward. Suburbia melts in main street. Soft glows come from storefront displays, lights left on as a precautionary measure, not as a symbol of life. The only way Steve knows that time has passed is that he’s flipped between the A and B side of the same cassette nearly five times through by the time Chief Hopper’s car is slowing to a stop beside him.

The sound of gravel crunching under tires filters in under the upbeat music, bringing Steve back into his head for the first time in however long. It’s the first sound he’s heard all night, and it throws him for a loop. However, the car beside him is more confusing. His feet have finally stopped their walk, and he stands level with Hopper’s driver’s side window. Which is rolled down, an expectant-looking Hopper staring at him. Steve blinks. His hands come up to tug the headphones down to rest around his neck. The metal band is cold.

“Uh,” Steve eloquently says. Hopper raises an eyebrow at him.

“I asked why the hell you were out here wandering the streets at five in the morning,” Hopper says, as patiently as Steve has ever imagined him to be, which is to say not at all. Though, when his brain catches up and registers what Hopper says his eyes nearly bug out of his head.

“F– Five!?” Steve almost shouts. In a split second, he takes in the chirp of birds in the trees and the foggy lightness of the sky.

“Yeah, Harrington. Five. Why are you out this early? Jesus, kid, have you slept at all?” Hopper finally puts his car in park so he can push open his door and stand in front of Steve. It’s a little uncomfortable to look up at Hopper with the way his headphones are digging into the back of his neck. All of a sudden, Steve is hyper-aware of how exhausted he is, both physically and mentally. His knees ache, and his feet feel vaguely numb.

“I, uh, I was going for a walk.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hopper says, hand coming up to rest on Steve’s shoulder, “Have you gotten any sleep?”

“An hour or so,” Steve blurts out, tired brain unable to hold in his thoughts. “Shit, I need to get home. Eddie’s there. He’s– Eddie’s gonna wake up soon maybe. And I– fuck, I have to take El out today, but–”

“Harrington, breathe.” Hopper orders, startling a deep breath into Steve with the sudden cop voice. “I’m gonna be honest with you, kid, I don’t feel comfortable with my kid in a car with you behind the wheel right now. You look… You look bad, Steve.”

“I, uh, no I’m okay to drive,” He says in a breath that sounds more like an attempt to convince himself instead of Hopper. “I just need to get back to the– to the car?”

“Steve.” Hopper fixes him with an unimpressed look that makes him think of his father. He flushes with embarrassment, feeling small.

“Eddie said he’d take my next day with El, anyways,” Steve says, voice as tinny and small as the music still pouring from his headphones. “Can I still go with them, though?” He feels like he’s asking permission, which is even more embarrassing seeing as he’s an adult and he’s talking to Jim fucking Hopper, not his dad.

“If someone else is driving, yes, but only if you really can’t rest.”

“Why are–” Steve’s voice comes out crackly so he clears his throat and tries again, “Why are you out this early anyways?”

“Joyce had an early shift at the store, so I dropped her off.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want some breakfast, kid?” Hopper says, with a heart-wrenchingly dad-like sight that Steve can’t help but nod. Hopper’s treat, he clarifies. Before he can think too hard about it, He’s in the passenger seat of Hopper's car and they’re driving to a diner that Mike would probably make fun of. It looks like the kind of place 80-year-olds take their crib group for brunch. They probably serve whole pies made fresh daily. The pancakes and eggs he orders taste better than anything he’s ever had in his life.

Hopper and him make their way through a carafe of coffee together while Hopper picks at his bacon, eventually relinquishing it to Steve’s plate.

“Does this happen often?” Hopper asks, eventually caving and breaking the silence.

“Hm?” Steve freezes with half of a sausage in his mouth, looking up in confusion.

“The not sleeping. Is that a normal thing for you?” Hopper clarifies. Steve wiggles his hand vaguely in front of him as he chews the rest of the sausage.

“I mean, yeah. I think we all get nightmares, Chief.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Hopper grumbles into his coffee mug.

“I just… I can fall asleep okay, I just don’t stay asleep very easily. I don’t know.”

“This is a new thing?”

“Oh, no. It’s just stuck around since our first go-around. Got knocked around the head too much of something, and now the annoying side effects won’t leave me alone.”

“Mmm,” Hopper regards him for a moment. “Do you think that could be a part of why your eyesight’s gone off the deep end?”

Steve starts to jump to his defense, but only gets a single noise of indignation out before the Chief is fixing him with a silencing look.

“Do not start with me, Harrington. I just had to read you the menu.” Once again, a flush takes up residence on Steve’s cheeks. He doesn’t like feeling chastised.

“They could be connected, I guess.” He says instead. “Listen, this has been nice, but I really need to head back to my house?” The sentence comes out a bit more like a question that Steve meant for it to.

“Munson’s over there, right?” Hopper asks, allowing the change in subject for now. “What’s he like? I’ll get him breakfast and coffee too.”

Which is how Steve finds himself balancing a paper coffee cup on a styrofoam to-go container of french toast while he shoves his keys into the lock. Before he can grab the doorknob, the door opens. It’s a strange feeling to be let into his own house by someone else, Steve finds as he meets Eddie’s disapproving look with a sheepish smile.

“Well look what the cat finally dragged in,” Eddie says, voice light but irritated. “When were you planning to sleep, Harrington?”

“Uh, I lost track of time. I know, I know– I got the whole spiel from that guy too,” Steve juts his thumb back at Hopper who waves from the driver’s seat before driving off. 

“I think you deserve to hear it again, actually. Give me that.” Eddie grabs the containers from Steve’s grasp, haughtily walking down the hall to the kitchen. The image is so weirdly reminiscent of the day before that Steve finds himself feeling off-kilter as he follows. Eddie plops himself down at the table, gesturing for Steve to sit across from him like he’s about to be interrogated. The fork in Eddie’s hands juts in Steve’s direction. “What the fuck was going through your head last night when you decided to go for a walk alone in the middle of the night and completely disappear for the next 5 hours? Are you out of your mind? I knew you’d left, but when you weren’t back in the morning I– Jesus christ, Steve, I thought you’d died or something.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, idiot.” Eddie scowls down at his take-out container, “Thank you for the french toast.”

“Hopper bought it.”

“Okay,” Eddie takes another bite. “The chief of police doesn’t know I like french toast though, so my thank you stands.”

“You’re welcome.” Steve swallows. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight last night. I think my body was kind of moving on autopilot. I didn’t mean to be out so long.”

“Apology accepted, but only if you don’t do it again, and only if I can stay the night again. I want to make sure you actually get some shut-eye. Besides, your bed is ridiculously comfortable, dude.” It’s unreal how relieved Steve feels when Eddie flashes him a small smile.

“Sure, sure. How do you feel about that offer you made yesterday, by the way?”

“More specific…?”

“Today’s my day to take El, and Hopper basically said he’d kill me personally if he caught me behind the wheel today, so–”

“Oh, yeah totally. Where am I taking the toddler today?”

“Uh, if I’m remembering correctly, we were heading to the bleachers behind the school. That… Uh, that might have been last week though. Maybe we should just ask when we get there?” Steve says sheepishly.

“Definitely, man. Better to hear from the source anyways.” Eddie grins more fully at him, one hand bridging the distance across the table to pat warmly at Steve’s arm. Steve unfolds himself enough to intertwine their fingers. He almost forgot the matching purple nails they were sporting. Interesting that Hopper didn’t mention it. Steve finds himself filing that tidbit of information away for some reason. “By ‘we’ do you mean you’re coming to? Thought you’d want to get some actual sleep now that you’re back.”

“Oh, nah. You didn’t drive here, anyway, so I might as well tag along.”

“Ooh, actually–” Eddie’s eyes twinkle wonderfully, “I seem to remember something about me taking your next Portal-Outing so that you could get in an appointment with the eye doctors.”

“Damn it, I was hoping you’d forgotten a little bit,” Steve says only mostly joking.

“You just can’t shake me, big boy,” Eddie taps his thumb against Steve’s. His rings are back on, but he’s still wearing the sleep clothes he’d borrowed from Steve’s dresser. “Do you want me to drop you off on the way to the cabin?”

“Could I come with you still?” It’s annoying that this is making him nervous when he’s literally killed demons before. “I’ve just– I, uh, I want to go after the El thing.” Eddie tilts his head to the side with a knowing look that makes Steve’s neck itch.

“Do you want company?” Eddie asks. His free hand is cradling the paper coffee cup– which reminds Steve that he’ll have to find and clean Joyce’s travel mugs before they leave so that they can be dropped off when they go out today.

“Honestly, I feel like I’m going to die of embarrassment if I answer that.”

“Noted. Question revoked, in that case,” Eddie says. Steve feels nauseous with how disappointed he feels until Eddie follows the statement up with, “I will be keeping you company at the eye doctor’s today. I’ve got nothing better to do anyways. You’re stuck with me for even longer , Stevie. At this rate, we should pick up a toothbrush for me while we’re out.” He’s obviously joking. God, he’s so painfully obviously joking but Steve can’t help himself from saying:

“Promise?” Immediately, he’s tugging his too-warm, too-clammy hand from Eddie’s, and pushing his embarrassing, flustered self into the kitchen to wash some travel mugs. He feels a bit like sticking his head directly under the faucet as Eddie’s stupidly pretty laughter follows him to the sink.

Chapter Text

Warm golden light is sneaking into the Harrington house through the still shut front curtains by the time the boys and dressed and ready to leave for the cabin. The majority of time has been spent with Eddie sitting on the ground in front of Steve as Steve tries steadfastly to untangle the hair ties from Eddie’s hair. This has always been one of Nancy’s biggest pet peeves back when she has long hair– the slightest amount of exposed elastic and it was all he could do to stop her from taking the scissors to her hair.

Eddie’s regularly wild curls have been tamed into slightly less wild waves in the pattern of the braids. His hair is soft. Steve’s fingers burn with the urge to tangle themselves in his friend’s hair. All the while, Eddie talks away about music– trying to find some overlap in their music taste. So far, the closest band Steve had been able to even acknowledge having heard of was Mike + the Mechanics, but even that is mostly a crossover from Robin. 

Eddie has found the only black t-shirt in Steve’s dresser and his darkest pair of blue jeans to wear on their outing, which Steve feels very normal about. He definitely doesn’t think about hooking his fingers in the belt loops and tugging Eddie in toward him. Fuck, this crush is going to kill him. Steve keeps wearing the same sweater and jeans that he’d pulled on last night, but he allows Eddie to talk him into bringing a t-shirt just in case.

“It’s almost summer, Harrington, are you insane?” He says incredulously as he roots through the drawers for something ‘acceptable’. Eventually the pair pile into Steve’s car, Eddie behind the wheel. Steve reminds himself on four separate occasions to grab Mrs. Byers’ travel mugs, but in the end, it’s Eddie who actually remembers. This morning is making Steve feel a bit like he’d love to put his head through a wall. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Either way, he enjoys the cool of the passenger side window on his face, not minding the way his forehead bumps against the glass when Eddie hits every single pothole dead-on. While he doesn't mind the bumps on the forehead, he does glower at Eddie with every lurch. He said he could drive the Beemer to the cabin, not destroy it. Eddie thinks it's hilarious.

His fingers continuously twitch subconsciously for the stick, unused to someone else driving his car. It takes a solid moment for Eddie to pick up on it, or for it to start bothering him at least, at which point he takes one hand off the wheels to twine his fingers with Steve’s hand from the back. He uses Steve’s hand to brace his own on the stick shift as though Steve’s car is manual and not automatic. It’s enough to drag Steve’s eyes away from the window to stare openly at their intertwined hands instead. Eddie pretends he doesn’t notice, but Steve knows what the little smile on his face means. He’s wearing Steve’s sunglasses. This man.

“Did we remember to–”

“Joyce’s cups are in the back. Please find a new topic of conversation, bud.”

“Oh,” Steve forgot that he’d already asked, “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Why don’t you put on some music? You have tapes in here right?” Eddie’s tone is way too soft for Steve to think straight. And he still doesn’t let go of their hands. Using his right hand, and straining to lean forward the slightest bit, Steve fumbles out a random cassette, slotting it into the deck. Eddie immediately starts tapping his ringed thumb against the steering wheel.

"You remembered to get the paper Joyce gave you, right?" Eddie prompts while his rings tap against Steve's knuckles like punctuation. It's unfairly easy to touch Eddie. They're both tactile people, Eddie more so than Steve, but Steve's touch means something different than Eddie's. It's like a craving that can only be satisfied by Eddie's fingers in his hair– his rings tapping cheerfully against his shoulder blades– his knees knocking against his under the table– "Steve?"

"What was that?" Steve blinks at Eddie, ears filled with sleepy fog.

"You remembered the paper Joyce gave you?" Steve did not.

"Totally,"

"Uh-huh," Eddie scrunches up his face at Steve, a sardonic smile painted onto his mouth. "Do you at least remember the name of the guy?"

Steve hesitates, wrinkling his nose as he thinks back to yesterday. He shrugs. Jonathan is probably home, he can ask him. Or they can ask Joyce when they make a pit stop at the grocery store for El's snacks. He voices the thoughts, eyebrows ticking down in annoyance– not toward Eddie but rather his own brain. His gaze finds its way back to the window, but his mind continues to stay locked on the warmth pressed against the back of his hand. Eddie hums in response, deciding to drop the topic. The silence the rest of the way to the cabin feels just the slightest bit awkward.

El and Will are hiding around the side of the cabin giggling and shushing each other as the wood of the porch creaks beneath their feet. Steve and Eddie grin at each other. A slight wind picks up behind Eddie, ruffling his hair to cover his eyes. Alright, cheaters. A laugh bubbles out of Eddie's mouth as he blindly grabs for Steve's shoulder. The pair stumble toward the front door, Steve whistling inconspicuously, one hand holding tight to Eddie's wrist over the elastics. The kids wait until Steve has one hand raised to knock on the door to jump out at them.

The kids can barely shout to scare the older boys before they're doubling over themselves with laughter. Steve has to help gently pry Eddie's hair off of his face where El has stuck it. She thinks it's hilarious, so Steve is forced to stay where he is, holding Eddie's hair around his ears as it keeps trying to weave its way back into a makeshift blindfold.

"Eleven, Eleven– El– Hah! El" Will can barely speak as he slaps at El's shoulder. "I can't breathe" there are tears in his eyes and one arm clutching his stomach. The smile on Steve's face threatens to split him in half– he always cherishes the times he sees the kids like this. Especially these two. Eddie's face is warm beneath his hands.

"Mercy! Mercy!" Eddie calls out, fingers dancing from Steve's wrists to his hair to his forehead to peel away loose strands. "I've got my metaphorical white flag flying, wonder girl! Steve can't hold my hair back all day, we've got work to do." There's an incredibly endearing smile on Steve's face, that sits entirely separate from the way his pupils dilate at the image of activities that might require Steve to hold Eddie's hair back–

"Harrington, you in there?" Eddie laughs, "I think you can let go, man"

A split second passes where the two stare at each other with wild grins before Steve's hands drop to his waist in what Mike calls his 'mom pose'. He tilts his body away from Eddie purposefully, using an insurmountable amount of effort to ignore the way Eddie has plastered himself to Steve's back. It's insane that Steve can tell which smile Eddie has on by the way his breath hisses happily through his teeth.

"Alright, kiddos, are both of you coming today?"

"What if I do not want to, but Will does?" El is smiling at her own joke, but Steve can't miss the tired look in her eyes. 

"Hey, are you doing okay?" He furrows his brow, stepping away from Eddie to crouch in front of the younger girl. "If you're too tired today, we can try again later, alright? There's no rush" El rolls her eyes, but relief washes over her shoulders.

"I am okay," Her voice is a bit quiet. A small smile sits on her features, her eyes looking to the side of Steve's head. It makes him feel fuzzy that she only avoids eye contact when she feels comfortable with someone. Eye contact has been a learned thing for the girl– One of those small things she has been teaching herself to drop. Steve rests his chin on his fists and grins up at her from where he is crouched.

"Alright, kiddo. Coming too, Will?" Steve runs his fingers loosely through Will's bangs to settle them where they'd rucked up in the earlier commotion. He pats his head when the boy nods. "Good stuff. You two get the back because Eddie is gonna be the chauffeur this time."

"Are you okay?" El asks, eyes flickering to his cheekbones and then back to his ear.

"Yeah, yeah, buddy I'm okay. Eddie misses you knuckleheads, and 'sides, I've still gotta get my eyes checked." telling the kids half-truths is a tricky game. El hates lies.

"Speaking of," Eddie cuts in, stepping forward. "Is Jonathan home right now?"

"No, he's at Nancy's today," Will says. The kid may have hit his growth spurt finally, but he still has to look up a lot to make eye contact with Eddie. "Why?"

"Just wondering if he remembered the name of the doctor Steve's going to see today." He smiles.

"Oh," Will's voice sounds strange to Steve, but before he can ask, Eddie leans over Steve to place his hands on Will and El's shoulders.

"All good. We're doing a snack run before heading out, so we can check with your lovely mom instead." Eddie says. El perks up slightly at the mention of snacks and then even more when Eddie says they get to see Joyce. Steve loves these kids.

Hopper appears in the doorway to wave the kids off with a thank you thrown in Eddie's direction. They all get into the car, El behind the driver's seat with her legs kicked up onto the back of the chair, pressing into Eddie's back. Scolding her only results in Will giggling and copying her with his hand-me-down sneakers kicking Steve in the spine through the chair. 

"Where to today, my lady?" Eddie asks, eyes glancing back at El in the rearview mirror. The car pulls out onto the covert road that winds away from the cabin. It’s a bumpy ride, which the kids love. El has her jaw dropped in the back making a sustained noise that bounces in her vocal cords with every rock on the road.

"Bleachers," she says simply, drawing the word out like her previous sound to hear how the word bounces. 

"The middle school, right?" Eddie confirms, copying Will's answering mod in the backseat. "Awesome. Sweetheart, could you turn it down just a teensy bit?"

Steve reaches out to dial the volume down on the radio, unthinking. Eddie's eyebrows shoot up as an amused look takes over his face.

"... I think he meant El," Will says uncertainly in the backseat.

"That I did, but that's okay." El's sound cuts off abruptly, "Oh, no, El, you can keep making your noise, just a little quieter, okay?"

The sustained hum starts up again at a mousy volume that gains more quiet confidence after a few seconds. Steve meanwhile sits bright red in the front, hand still frozen on the dial. Just like before, Eddie gently grips his hand, lowering it to the stick shift to hold him in place. Steve feels like he is going to pass out. Every time he glances back at the kids to check in, El is wobbling in her seat and Will is staring directly back at him. He doesn't quite know how to parse Little Byers at particular this moment. 

Luckily, before he can embarrass himself further, the Beemer is pulling up to the grocery store.

"Alright, everybody out!" Steve calls as soon as the car is thrown into park (He is steadfastly not thinking about the way Eddie's hand tightens over his to move the car from drive. The bite of rings between his fingers makes him feel like goo melting into the seat beneath him. This is pathetic).

They are barely out of the car when Will grabs Steve's hand, pulling him inside the store. Steve shoots a confused look over his shoulder at Eddie, but the other man is busy listening intently to something El is saying. Will pulls him down the aisles until they’re safely tucked away in the dead end that stores the drinks.

"Mom, I have a question," Will says seriously. A second after speaking his face flushes deep red and his eyes grow wide, "Oh my god, I'm sorry t– that's– the party we have this, uh– it's an inside joke. I'm so– I didn't mean–" This might be the best day of Steve's life. If this were any other kid, he might've followed up the comment with some teasing, but Will looks so red he's scared the kid has stopped breathing, so he crouches to his level and grips the kid's shoulder.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, buddy. I like it! It's fine!" Steve pulled him in for a tight hug, holding Will tightly until the kid calms down a little. When his hands have stopped trembling minutely Steve pulls him back slightly to look at his face. "What was your question?"

It hurts to see the kid panic so easily. These were the nerves that plagued the kids– especially El and Will. The things that trigger the kids vary from obvious things like flashing lights to jump scares, but they each have smaller ones that Steve has been learning to pick up on. Certain words or phrases or even colours can send any number of them reeling. It's not just triggers, either. Will in particular tends to go from zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds. Following the wrong train of thought for a second too long or tripping over one too many words often launches the kid into an anxious fit. He finds it embarrassing, but Steve's been working with him a lot to realize that it’s normal.

"Your nails are purple." Will states.

"Yes?" Steve cocks his head to the side, "Not hearing a question there, kiddo."

"Sorry," Will won't look him in the eyes. "Will you promise not to hate me if I ask you?"

"Of course, Will," Steve's palms feel a bit clammy against the fabric of Will's shirt.

" Do you like boys?" Will whispers so quietly that Steve barely hears him. He does though– hear him, that is, and he feels himself go a little pale.

"Um," He squeaks, eyes blurry as he spins his head around to take note of the aisle. It's still empty.

"I just don't know anyone else like me and I saw your nails and I saw how you looked at Eddie and I–" Will is bright red again, chest heaving around the whispered words. So Steve does the only thing he thinks he can do and pulls him on for another crushing hug. As soon as Steve presses a kiss into Will's hair and mumbles a quiet 'yes', Will starts crying. He doesn't make a sound, but the wet spot on Steve's shoulder can only mean one thing when paired with the way the kid's shoulders are shaking. He keeps whispering into the kid's hair, letting the emotions come as they please.

Eddie and Eleven find them like this in a puddle on the floor of the drink aisle. They haven't even picked up the flat or Gatorade yet. Steve hears them before he sees them, talking happily before coming to a stunned stop at the top of the aisle. Steve raises his head up enough to look at the pair, nearly flinching at how quickly El is running over to them.

"What happened to him," she all but growls, reaching for Will with outstretched hands. 

"Oh, El I'm okay," Will almost whimpers. His face is wet and red. Steve brings his thumbs up to wipe the last few tears from his cheeks.

"All good, buddy?"

"All good," Will smiles. To El, "They're happy tears,"

"Okay," El still reaches for him to wrap him in a tight hug. Eddie has made his way over to them. He has a basket filled with snack foods and a few magazines resting in the crook of his elbow, reddening the skin there. Steve wants to kiss his arms. What the fuck.

"You okay?" Eddie mouths. Steve nods with a minute smile and a gesture that he hopes Eddie understands as 'later'.

"Eddie's nails are painted too," Will whispers. His eyes flick back and forth between Steve's face and Eddie's hands. 

"Well yeah, baby Byers, who do you think painted Stevie's here?" Eddie smirks, overhearing the comment. One of those mischievous glints sparks into Will's puppy dog eyes.

"Eddie, do you–" Before he can finish his sentence, Steve has covered his mouth with one big hand. His face is red and his lips are pressed together. 

"Hush, hush, hush," Steve urges. Eddie cocks his head to the side. "We need– what do we need still? Just drinks? What do you want to drink, Will?" He lets go of Will's head to swipe a 6-pack of red Gatorade. After a moment of deliberation, Will asks for coke. The foursome makes their way to the till to pay. Steve nearly forgets to brace himself for Mrs. Byers, but Will thankfully soothes her before she can turn her motherly instinct on him and Eddie as the babysitters of her puffy-eyed son.

"Did you get my note, Steve? I sent it with Jonathan yesterday," She turns to him, scanning through the items from Eddie's basket. 

"I did, but I accidentally forgot it at the house. Do you remember where it is? Sorry," Steve runs a hand roughly through his hair.

"Of course, sweetie," Joyce pauses in her scanning to lean across the counter to give Steve's cheek a pat, "You look tired, are you doing alright?"

"... I didn't get much sleep last night," Steve admits, tired brain winning a battle with his brain-to-mouth filter.

"Don't worry, Joyce, I'm taking care of him," Eddie throws his arm around Steve's shoulders, tugging him close to his chest.

"Good to hear that, honey," Joyce replies, sounding genuinely pleased. It makes Steve squirm against Eddie's chest. He isn't used to adults caring so much– it's strange. Eddie, unfortunately, misreads the squirming and loosens his hold on Steve. "Do you boys want to stay come over for family dinner tonight? It's been too long since we've seen you, Eddie."

"Oh, I don't know…" Steve starts, yelping at the pinch Eddie delivers to his side.

"We'd love to!" He says with a smile.

"I will warn you– I think it's Hop's night to cook," She says with a secretive smile. 

"That means that we get breakfast for dinner!" El claps her hands excitedly. That was a throughline with Hopper's dinners. Even if he tried to cook something else, he usually ended up serving up waffles and eggs with the burnt remains of whatever else he tried to make sitting at the bottom of the garbage can.

He wonders if he and Eddie should bring something. The past few times he's joined the Hopper-Byers for dinner it had been sort of spur of the moment, so it would be nice to bring something, he supposes. Maybe drinks? They could pick up something for the adults and some juice or something for the kids. Or maybe they could stop by the bakery and pick up something everyone would enjoy for dessert. That would probably mean getting individual things for everyone, to be fair.

Steve's train of thought is abruptly cut off by a sharp jab to the ribs courtesy of one Will Byers. 

"Mom's talking to you," The four are staring at him, mostly with looks of concern.

"You're sure you're going okay, honey?" Joyce says. All of the items have been scanned and she is obviously waiting on payment as well as an answer to whatever she's just said. He clears his throat and fumbles with his wallet as an excuse to avert his gaze from all of them.

"Yep, a-okay, Mrs. Byers," he flashes her a smile, "I was just thinking. What did you say?"

Joyce smiles warmly at him. She repeats the total and then turns to Eddie, "You'll take care of him?"

"Will do!" Eddie chirps, sneaking his arm around Steve's waist. He taps a finger against his temple, "I'll remember the address for him, so no worries." Oh shit, right. That's what he's missed. " —And we'll be back in time for dinner, too."

Will and El have already gathered up the paper bags in their arms by the time Steve has paid for everything, and they're off like a shot shouting goodbye as they go. Eddie squeezes Steve's waist, which makes him feel like steam is about to shoot from his ears, and shares a smile with Joyce. She shakes her head with a small laugh.

The kids are wrenching on Steve's car handles, ignoring his shouts to stop. He detangles himself from the arm still resting on his waist to unlock the car doors– which takes three tries because the kids keep trying to open it right as it unlocks. Eddie's laughing from the trunk where he's artfully placing bags so that the nails from the bat don't rip anything. 

"Alright, alright. Get in, shitheads," Steve rolls his eyes but he's laughing along with them. He reaches for Eddie's hand this time, resting their joined hands against the centre console. The rocking of the car combined with the voices of the kids calms his brain. Steve hadn't noticed how quickly his brain was firing off signals until it all quiets into a peaceful hum. He sits staring straight ahead, letting the sounds wash over him. 

The sun has risen above them at the perfect height to shine directly through the front windshield just below the visors. Eddie still has Steve’s sunglasses, which is fine. He looks good in Steve’s things. Main Street is a lot more lively than it is at 4 in the morning. People are milling around the sidewalks, smoking in the streets, and laying into their horns at every red light. Someone’s standing on a ladder outside the library– maybe repainting or cleaning some vandalism off of something. 

The air in the car feels soft, both because of the company and due to the glow of the sun through the window. Absently, Steve realizes that he feels hot in his sweater. His eyelids blink lazily like he’s looking at the world through honey. If he thinks too hard about it, he’d almost say he’s dreaming, and, hell, maybe he is. He could wake up any second to the sun sliding through his blinds with Eddie wrapped around him in his blanket nest. Maybe he hasn’t woken up yet. A tired smile slips onto his face like a mask as he takes in the way the car seems to move simultaneously so far over the speed limit and at a snail’s pace.

The next thing Steve knows, the car is parked behind the middle school, and Eddie is holding his hand in both of his own.

“Hey, Steve, are you in there? I knew I should’ve left you at home to sleep, sweetheart.” One of Eddie’s hands reaches up to tilt Steve’s head to face him. His fingers tap a light rhythm across his forehead and cheekbones.

“Is Steve okay?” El sounds worried. It makes Steve frown to hear her voice like that, but he can’t quite break to the surface yet.

“He will be, he will be,” Eddie sounds distracted– it’s a particular tone Steve’s heard on himself when he’s trying to keep calm on the surface so the kids don’t get scared. “Uh– uh– It’s 9:30 in the morning on Thursday. We’re at the middle school to help El close a portal,”

“Your name is Steve and you’re from Hawkins,” Will quietly joins in, copying the mantra he and the party do any time someone has a particular kind of rough day.

“Good, yeah,” Eddie ruffles Will’s hair before bringing his hand back to Steve’s face. His skin tingles where Eddie’s fingers have been tapping. The other boy’s thumbs come up to drag along the bags under his eyes, warm rings pressing lightly into his jaw bone. Steve really hates to leave the silky smooth dream-feeling he’s found himself in, but his eyes blink a few times, head jerking slightly as he comes back to himself.

“Wh–” Steve’s head feels cottony. “What…”

“There he is! Welcome back, Harrington,” Eddie smiles so warmly at him with relief flooding his warm brown eyes that Steve swears he gets cavities from the sight.

“What’s happening?” It somehow feels like the Beemer has blipped them from Main Street directly to the parking lot of the middle school. He knows that’s not the case, but the driving in between the locations is blank in Steve’s head. “Wow, it is hard to stay in the– to focus on being here,”

“You zoned out on us. Glad that you’re back now, though. I was worried I’d have to start playing some normie shit like ABBA to wake you up,” Eddie’s tone is teasing, but he looks so obviously worried. Steve hazards a look at the kids in the back and finds them looking equally if not more panicked than Eddie. Fuck.

“Sorry guys, I haven’t had very much sleep, um, recently. It's nothing Upside Down related, I promise.”

Eddie taps his thumbs two times on the sides of Steve's cheekbones alerting him to the fact that his face is still being held. "I believe you. Now–" Eddie drops his hands to his thighs with a slap, "I do believe there's a portal with little Eleven's name on it over there, is that right?"

They pile out of the car, each grabbing a handful of necessities from the car. The kids each take a bag of snacks, wandering forward and chatting quietly. Eddie piles a couple of blankets into Steve's arms, saving the drinks for himself. Steve allows him a moment to stare at Eddie's biceps as he carries the packs of drinks. They probably don't need all twelve drinks, so it's probably overkill. However, Steve can't point it out because his brain has conveniently shut down with how Eddie has just winked at him, caught in the act of checking out his arms. This man was going to actually kill him.

The group makes a small picnic about twelve feet from the glowing red hole in the ground. As per usual, the air around the portal smells slightly sulfurous. It takes a bit of convincing around the smell to get El to choke down a few cookies and at least half of a bottle of Gatorade. Once El is ready, Will sets himself up with his sketchbook as the older boys walk her over to the hole. 

They've learned since the first few times doing this. Instead of standing, El sits in Steve's lap while he hugs her around the waist. It makes Steve feel strange to have such a concrete reminder that she's growing up. She used to be so small, and it's only been four years but she's tall enough that he can't comfortably rest his chin on her head like this anymore. Eddie sits next to them, ready to help with anything that needs someone to be mobile, but for the most part, he settles on petting her head for a while until she has relaxed back into Steve.

"You ready, kiddo?" He asks. Instead of answering, El lets out a long hiss of breath and raises her hand toward the hole. The wind picks up just enough to carry the sound of Will humming over to them– something that makes El collapse even more against Steve.

"You've got this, buddy," Steve mutters as he presses a kiss into her short hair. There is still not a single clue as to what she actually does, but after ten minutes, El's hand is shaking and there are tears and blood dripping down her face. Eddie has moved to sit beside her again and is holding her free hand tightly. The sleeve of Steve's sweater is pulled over his hand and pressed lightly under El's nose to staunch some of the bleeding.

"We can stop whenever, sweetheart. You can stop if it's too much." He's honestly not sure which of them says it. 

"Almost," El grits out, sounding so pained that Steve feels like crying.

"You're doing great," Steve affirms.

Finally, finally, the edges of the hole squirm together, kitting together in the middle in such a dizzying manner that Steve feels lightheaded. As soon as they meet in the middle and show no more sign of moving, Eleven collapses backward– fully unconscious in Steve's arms. 

"I'll go check on Will and bring over some shit for her to have when she wakes up," Eddie whispers. He runs his fingers lightly over the top of Steve's head as he walks back to their little picnic setup. It's almost impossible to stop his body from curling around the girl in his arms protectively. It feels good to help and protect them even in moments he isn't needed. If the last few years have shown him anything, it's that these kids are some of the most important people in Steve's world and he'll do anything for them. 

Once he's sure that her nose has stopped bleeding, Steve rolls up the sleeve to hide the blood, using the cleaner parts to clear some of the wetness from El's cheeks. 

"Eddie?" He calls backward, hoping the other boy can hear him without him having to turn around.

"What's up?" Thank god.

"I've got some Advil in my glove box. Can you crush one up for her to have when she wakes up? This one seemed rough, her hands'll be feeling it later."

"On it!" Steve can almost hear the way Eddie salutes him goofily. The lovestruck smile that takes over his expression goes unchecked. Jesus Christ, this guy. Light footsteps wander up behind him accompanied by the crinkle of snack wrappers. Will plops down into the spot Eddie had been sitting in and takes over holding El's hand.

"I worry about her a lot." The boy admits.

"Can I let you in on a secret?" Will nods as Steve speaks, "I worry about her too. And you as well, but also I think you kids are the bravest people this side of Indiana," Steve says sincerely. Will blushes and brings his knees up to bury his face in them. "I'm glad you have each other now. And Eddie and me. You can come to us about anything, alright? We're always here to help at any time, even if it's small– even in the middle of the night. You've got out phone numbers, and we've got walkies." 

Steve jumps when a warm palm comes down to squeeze his shoulder, "Yeah, what he said.  We gotta make sure everyone's being looked after, right?" Eddie says warmly. Unexpectedly, Will starts giggling.

"See this is why we call you mom and dad," He squeezes out through his fits of giggles. Steve smiles sheepishly up at Eddie who's already looking down at him fondly. As soon as they make eye contact, Eddie clears his throat and turns his red-tinted face to look the other way. "How's Thing 1 doing?"

Steve checks her over slightly, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead and taking in the way her eyes are starting to move beneath her eyelids. It seems that El's brain always comes back to consciousness before her body does. Taking a page from Eddie's book earlier, Steve starts lightly tapping his fingertips against El's face and shoulders.

"She's starting to wake up," Steve says. Nodding, Will drops El's hand. The picnic blanket lays temporarily forgotten behind them all three boys sit in a triangle around El. It takes another short moment for the girl to wake up, eyes bleary and a quiet whine making its way out of her. Her hands grasp at each other, a pained look on her face, as Steve coaxes her into a seated position. Eddie places the other half of her Gatorade within arm's reach alongside the cap which holds the crushed pain medication. 

“Morning,” Will jokes. The response he gets is a pleased hum and a smile.

“Are you up to heading back to the picnic blanket?” Eddie just a thumb at the setup behind them, “We can read Archie comics for a while until you feel better.” El nods. Her hands shakily grab her drink and medication. As soon as they’ve been taken, El turns her sleepy smile toward Steve. With a tired heaviness, the girl grabs at the air in front of Steve’s face, arms upward. Oh, okay.

“Sure thing, kid, let's go shall we?” A grunt that would feel at home in an old man comes from Steve’s throat as he shuffles to his feet, not once setting El down. She kicks her feet annoyingly in an attempt to throw his balance.

The afternoon finds the four huddled together still. The sun has started to beat down on them from above. It’s gotten hot enough that Steve has actually had to head back to the car to find the t-shirt Eddie made him bring. He changes once he’s set himself back down at the picnic blanket. A quiet scratching sound comes from one side where Will has gone back to his sketchbook. The sound makes his body relax, but what really does him in is the soft sound of Eddie and El reading Archie together. 

When Eddie talks to the kids he never changes his voice. He wants them to feel on the level and not speak down to them, but times like this are different. In the Post-Upside Down world, the kids have moments that require them to be treated differently. In moments like this, while El kicks her legs happily behind her, running her pointer finger over the drawings on the page, Eddie’s voice is soft and soothing. There’s a small (big) part of Steve that craves that voice to be used for him. He falls asleep to the sound of Eddie’s voice wrapping around him like a hug, feeling warm in the sun.

Chapter Text

Steve wakes up in someone’s arms. With a yelp, he flings his limbs out, effectively throwing himself to the ground as the person drops him. He hits the ground hard, the back of his head bouncing slightly off the pavement beneath him as he scrambles back a bit. The blurry figure above him shouts in alarm, nearly reaching for him before… retracting its hand almost immediately. Steve’s breath comes out in pants between his clenched teeth.

“Fuck. Fuck! Steve, hey, it’s me,” The blurry figure drops into a crouch from where they’re standing. They don’t come closer or try to reach for him anymore, instead bringing a clump of long hair up to their mouth. “The kids are in the car. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up. We’re almost in the car. In the parking lot. Shit, I’m sorry–”

“...Eddie?” Steve really thinks he should stop falling asleep around people if this humiliating little routine is going to become commonplace. “Can you come closer? I can’t see you properly.”

Eddie makes a small noise that Steve can’t quite get a read on, but he comes closer. His features become distinguishable once he’s within grabbing distance. Steve feels his shoulders relax. One of Eddie’s hands comes up to hover slightly between them, but he leaves it there with a question on his face. Instead of responding, Steve brings one of his own hands up to hold Eddie’s.

“Sorry that you had to deal with that again,” Steve says. “Shit, are the kids okay?”

“Yeah, but they probably just saw me drop you onto the concrete, so prepare to be mother-hen’d by two 15-year-olds any minute now” Eddie coughs out a laugh. What a pair they are, sitting on the pavement of the middle school parking lot and holding hands from two feet away. 

“Did you just drop my babysitter!?” Will cries out as if summoned. He and El crash around the side of the car Steve and Eddie are unintentionally hiding behind. El immediately grabs his head and hugs it, nearly toppling him over in the process if not for the fact that Eddie is still holding his hand.

“Gah, ease up, wonder girl!” Steve swats lightly at her arms which have wrapped tightly over his forehead, “I’m okay! I woke up and fell. Your dear old dad didn’t drop me.” Eddie has a very sweet dusting of pink across his cheeks.

“Geez, who do you kids take me for?” Eddie breathes out, squeezing Steve’s hand lightly. “Are you alright?”

“‘M fine,” Steve responds automatically, finally having succeeded in freeing his head from El’s grasp. Eddie tuts in response, using his grip on Steve’s hand to gently pull himself forward.

“Don’t play that with me, Harrington,”

“What do you m– Gah, stop that!” Steve hisses out in pain, slapping away Eddie’s hands a bit roughly. “Stop with the head, oh my god.”

“Steve. Steve!” Eddie levels him with an intense look that quiets Steve, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to wiggle out of Eddie’s grasp. When he next speaks his voice is low and soft in the same way he’d spoken to El earlier. It makes something melt inside of Steve, loosening the tension in his brow. “Sit still so that I can check you over, you moron.”

He really doesn’t want any more hands poking at him, but he finally gives in. His arms drop to hug around his torso. It makes him glad he’s put on the t-shirt Eddie made him bring just because he’s able to feel the bite of his nails against his ribs– the thick knit of the sweater would never cut it on that front. Eddie sends the kids back to the car gently with the promise of being there shortly after he’s checked on Steve. One careful hand grips Steve’s chin, tilting his head up so that he has no choice but to watch Eddie’s dark, intense eyes flit over his face. Steve licks his lips, just to see if his eyes will follow the movement.

They do.

“Steve,” Eddie starts, eyes fixed momentarily on Steve’s mouth before jumping back up to look him in the eyes. He clears his throat, “Um, look at me? Okay, okay– your pupils look fine. I’m gonna check the back of your head, alright?” Steve finds himself nodding without even thinking about it. Eddie clearly doesn’t understand that Steve would do practically anything he asked, especially with the way he’s running his fingers so gently through his hair.

There’s a sudden sting at the back of his head where Eddie has just brushed his fingers. It makes Steve’s eyes shut tightly and his breath hiss loudly out through gritted teeth.

“Ah, yeah you’ve got a bit of a bump there. You’ve hit your head before, yeah? Where’s this one on the scale?” Eddie’s tone is joking, but Steve rests his head back into Eddie’s hand and actually thinks about it– thinks about the punches, the gymnasium floor, the brutality of Billy Hargrove’s fists, his mother’s wine glass, the door of his father’s office–

“A two maybe.” He settles on. The small smile on Eddie’s face dims a bit at the genuine response and Steve immediately wishes he could learn to shut his own mouth for once. Eddie’s concerned face is so close to his own that all Steve can feasibly think about is what it would feel like to kiss him, so he stupidly blurts out, “Ranks somewhere above my dad's right hook, but leagues below the Russian torture dungeon.”

“Uh.” Eddie sits back on his heels and squints at Steve.

“Can we actually just forget I just said that? I would love that.” Maybe if he’s quick he can hit his head on the ground again to knock himself out. “In fact, I have a doctor’s appointment to get to, don’t I. Whew! Look at the time. We’d better drop these kids off and get a move on, eh Munson?”

Steve stands up nonchalantly off the ground, steadfastly ignoring the headrush that takes him by the knees and greys out his vision. He slaps some dirt off of his jeans and holds out a hand to help Eddie up. Eddie takes the hand even though he looks like his brain is on pause. It’s like Steve can physically see him processing what Steve’s said and trying to come up with any kind of response.

Steve keeps his hands folded in his lap as they peel away from the parking lot. He doesn't look over at Eddie Munson wearing his clothes and shooting him pointed looks. He spends the drive turned to the back seat placating the kids and chatting about dinner. El looks tired still, but they've gotten good enough at charades for Steve to understand that she's planning to nap as soon as they get home. Last week, Steve helped a woman at Family Video who had to communicate through her daughter, their hands flying smoothly in conversation. He has matching copies of the biggest sign language handbook he could find sitting in the corner of his closet now in preparation for El's next birthday.

Eddie walks the kids to their door, chatting briefly with Hopper while Steve watches from the car. It's sort of funny to watch them interact still. Steve doesn't think Eddie's quite gotten used to the whole Chief-Of-Police-Can-Be-Trusted thing. His hands are behind his back while they talk, fingers rhythmically snapping his hair ties against his wrist. Their brief conversation comes to a close with Hopper letting out a deep belly laugh and clapping a very tense Eddie on the shoulder. The tittering sound of Eddie's nervous laughter makes Steve smile. By the time Eddie gets back to the car, Steve is once again staring straight ahead cursing the empty car for its lack of distractions. The silence remains at least until they've pulled back onto the bumpy back road.

"Hey, sw–" Eddie sounds like he chokes a little bit on his own words, "Steve, can you say something, please? So I know you haven't left me here again?" His voice is small and quiet. The fingers of one of Steve's hands move slightly to pinch himself for putting that tone into Eddie's voice.

"Sorry,"

"Why are you apologizing?" Eddie prompts.

"I just– I'm tired, and I think my habit of speaking without thinking gets so much worse when I'm like this. Sorr– Sorry for making you uncomfortable."

"Don't–" The frustrated sigh that punches straight from Eddie's diaphragm makes Steve pinch himself harder. One hand comes up to scrub across Eddie's face, but the movement is aborted at the last minute. Instead, Eddie's purple fingernails rake once through his hair, leaving his bangs sticking up slightly at the front, "Don't fucking do that."

"Do what?"

"Assign me feelings. Don't do that. When did I ever say I was uncomfortable?"

"I figured that when you–"

"No figuring. When did I concretely say I was uncomfortable? I'm not going to run circles around shit, Steve. I'm not that kind of guy. You'll know what I'm feeling, dude."

"But how will I know?" Steve shoots back, voice quiet as irritation creeps down his spine.

"Because I'll tell you, Stevie," Eddie says softly, looking at him briefly. His eyebrows are furrowed, which makes Steve sink back into the passenger's seat and look away. Eddie sighs again. When he speaks his voice is almost sarcastic, "Like right now what I'm feeling for you is worried, man. A little annoyed but not necessarily at you. I'm not mad or whatever."

"Okay," The lightness of Steve's tone is entirely affected. His shoulders untense. Finally (finally!) Eddie reaches across the centre console to wrap his fingers loosely around Steve's wrist.

"Stop hurting yourself, please." Eddie's voice is so quiet it almost comes out as a breath. 

"I'm not–"

"Your hand, Harrington." Eddie cuts him a small glare, "Give it to me." It feels like Steve's been sucker-punched in the gut and the rush of air he lets out sounds like it too. His eyes widen. He's never complied with something someone has asked him so fast. Eddie rolls his eyes while his thumb runs over the spot he'd been pinching. It's with exasperation that Eddie says, "Good boy."

"Oh my fucking god," Steve freezes because if he even moves an inch he's going to climb across this car and kiss Eddie senseless. Eddie must take his tone as something besides what it is– turned the fuck on– because he's nearly swerving into the other lane with how he throws his head back to cackle loudly. And just like that, the world rights itself on its axis again and Steve can't breathe. "You are going to be the death of me, Eddie Munson,"

"Hey! That's only the first time I've nearly got us into a head-on collision! Cut me some slack, sweetheart," Eddie is laughing so hard that he has to temporarily let go of Steve's hand to wipe one of his eyes. Yeah, that's what Steve meant.

"Yes, and? I should call Hopper in here to get your license revoked." Steve teases back, letting himself fall back into normalcy.

"Don't even joke about that," Eddie whines, "Every time he talks to me I feel like I'm about to be murdered. Like I'm a cute little bunny rabbit and he's got a sawed-off pointed right between my ears."

"He just acts like that to get a rise out of you. You're too easy, Munson," 

"Oh and I'm easy now, am I?" Eddie can barely keep the little smirk on his face with the way he's laughing through it.

"Shut up , oh my god," Steve thwaps the other boy on the shoulder, which only makes him laugh harder. By the time they're on Main Street, Eddie is purposefully swerving around the lane while Steve grips his seatbelt for dear life, screaming about how he's worse than Max holy fucking shit–

Eddie yanks the key from the ignition nearly before throwing the car in park just so that he can, it seems, sits back and watch Steve catch his breath in the passenger seat. Eddie patiently waits for Steve to stop grumbling before he speaks.

"So, you still want company, big boy?" Eddie asks. He raises an eyebrow when Steve hesitates, "It's completely up to you."

"Do you think– I think I can do the appointment on my own, but I might need a second pair of eyes to pick something out? I don't know how all of this s gonna work, but if they have me pick out glasses or whatever today–"

"Yeah, I can do that," Eddie smiles. "Gonna need someone to play fashion show with, right?"

"I keep some spare change in the centre console if you wanna get yourself a coffee or something. I don't know how long I'll be. Maybe I'll come to get you when I'm ready." Eddie flashes him a grin and a double thumbs up. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep getting to him that makes Steve lean over to pat Eddie on the cheek as he gets out of the car. 

Dr. LaValle is a short woman with friendly eyes and a no-nonsense attitude. She can sense that Steve’s nervous so she gets him a glass of water in a little styrofoam cup and sits him down inside the examination room. There are a few appliances in there and a poster on the wall in front of him. The beginning of the appointment seems like an interview. Dr. LaValle asks what has brought him in and asks a few questions so that she can make a file for him. At the mention of the concussion– or concussion s , rather– a small wrinkle forms between her eyebrows. She sweeps her hair behind her ear and makes a quick note.

“You have a history of head injuries then?” Her voice is a little creaky in nature. If he wasn’t sitting with her in a professional setting, he wouldn’t be surprised to see her baking homemade chocolate chip cookies or knitting a shawl or something. She’s already clicked her tongue at him once for nearly dozing in the middle of their conversation, but he can’t help it when he’s this tired.

“Yup,”

“Interesting,” She scribbles something else into his file, “And when did you start noticing a change in your sight?” Steve exhales in thought and drifts his eyes up to the ceiling.

“I guess I started noticing it a couple of years ago but didn’t make a note of anything until a… friend of mine mentioned it. Got knocked around by a guy I went to school with and when I woke up the world was kind of blurry. I thought it would go away, but I guess I just got used to it.”

“And you’ve had concussions since that incident?” Dr. LaValle prompts. Steve snorts.

“A few, yeah. Hit my head today actually, but I don’t think it’s bad enough to actually count as another one.” Dr. LaValle hums and begins rifling her long fingers through a drawer at her desk. She pulls out a brochure and a business card, which she presses into Steve’s hands.

“I would like to follow through on our appointment today, but I believe it would also be beneficial to give you a referral to a colleague of mine if you are willing," Dr. LaValle taps the brochure with the end of her pen, "It is a bit of a drive, but my colleague operates a clinic in Indianapolis that I'd urge you to look into. He specializes in brain injuries and head trauma. It may offer a more long-term care routine than the one I can give with just glasses. I may be able to aid you with the impaired vision side of this, but that's only one piece of the puzzle– you understand."

"And I'd have to drive to the city to meet the guy?" Steve tucks the card into the brochure.

"Yes, though I will call ahead to pass along your information. Although, it may be best, given the matter at hand, to procure a ride from someone else. The glasses will help, but until you have been cleared by a specialist, it would be safer to avoid getting behind the wheel. Do you have someone who would be able to take you?"

"I have a couple of people I could ask, yeah." Steve almost grumbles.

"Wonderful," Dr. LaValle rises from her seat to bring over a few of the appliances. "Now we move onto the fun part. I have a few tests to do with you to ensure you receive the proper prescription."

The rest of the appointment is a bit of a blur of frustration ("One or two, Mr. Harrington, which one appears clearer?") And boredom ("Now if you will wait here for just one moment, it appears that I have misplaced my eyedrops"). Steve's not sure how long he's been sitting in this cramped office, but he hopes Eddie's not too bored. Finally, after an embarrassing attempt at reading the poster across the wall and only managing the first row, the doctor helps him apply eye drops so that she can observe the back of his eye. By the time she's done, he has to be led to the front of the store to retrieve Eddie. His blurry vision has become blurrier as his pupils dilate to accommodate the drops, making his surroundings feel sort of wobbly.

The bell above the door jingles as he peeks his head out the door, blinking into the onslaught of the sun. The world swims together giving him the worst high he's ever experienced without the actually being high part. He recognizes the general colour of his BMW sitting where Eddie parked it earlier. On the back trunk, two blobs sit. Or maybe one blob. Two? Steve blinks heavily.

"Eddie?" He chooses to call out instead of forcing his eyes more than he has to. The blobs turn their faces toward him, one of them hopping off the car to come over.

"Jesus, Harrington, did the CIA come to interrogate you in there?" The blob, Eddie, says, gently patting his cheeks.

"Huh?" Steve says eloquently.

"Nevermind. Dude your eyes look crazy. It's like you're on acid right now." Eddie gestures at the other blob to come over. When it stops in front of Steve, Eddie tilts his head down slightly toward it. "Check this out, dude."

"Alright, alright. I'm not a science fair project. Who's this?" Steve shakes Eddie's hands off his face, not liking the feeling of being watched without knowing who's doing the watching.

"You look fucked up," Fucking Mike Wheeler? What the fuck is Mike Wheeler doing downtown alone?

"Wheeler!? Why are you–"

"Nancy's at the library." The blob shrugs. 

"I leave you alone for how long, and you're already babysitting, Munson?" Steve teases. 

"Shut up, as if I need someone looking after me." Steve doesn't need to be able to see Mike's face to know he's rolling his eyes. "You look like shit right now."

"Hey, do you have any respect for your elders?" Eddie raises an arm and presumably flicks Mike in the forehead.

"Now who the hell are you calling old?" Steve learns forward slightly, hands on his hips.

"Oooh, you better watch yourself, Eddie, he's got the mom pose going." Mike snorts, probably accompanied by another roll of his eyes. 

"And to think I was coming out here to get a hand picking out frames. I don't think you've earned the right, anymore."

"As if you can see yourself enough to pick something to suit you," Eddie teases, making Mike grin.

"How the hell would you know?"

"Well for one, you look supremely fucked up, and two, you couldn't even tell this was Mike when he was right in front of you." 

"Yeah, well, maybe I just–"

"Oh my god, can we just go make you look nerdy already?" Mike groans, tossing his head back to the sky in frustration before pushing them all back into the store.

"You found your driver alright, Mr. Harrington?" Dr. LaValle looks up from the reception desk where she is talking to the secretary. He hears Eddie mumble a confused ' driver?' from where he stands behind Steve.

"Yup, plus one straggler. This is Eddie and this is Mike,” he gestures at the blobs.

"Actually, he's Eddie, and I'm Mike," the kid punches him in the arm. Eddie snickers.

“Well, either way, it is lovely to meet you both. You are the ones that are here to assist Steven in picking out his frames?” 

“I would love nothing more,” Mike says like it’s his full-time paid job to be sarcastic.

“ Eddie is helping me pick out frames, smartass. I don’t think I can trust you to know what’s fashionable.”

“Jesus Christ, you wear pattern with pattern one time and suddenly Steve Harrington’s jumping down your–”

“Boys!” Eddie scolds, shoving his way between the two, “We’re here for a reason! You’re making us look bad. Sorry, doc,”

“No need to apologize, Eddie.” She says with a smile in her creaky old voice. “Now, I did mention to Steven that he had the option to choose his frames once his pupils had undilated, but he said that he had brought someone to act as his eyes today. I’ll show you, boys, to our selection. You may try any of the frames we have available, but remember to return them to their rightful spots.”

“How long till his pupils shrink?” Eddie asks.

“It can take anywhere from three to five hours, so I was grateful that he came with a driver.” Dr. LaValle explains, leading the boys to a room beside the reception area. She has a small hand between Steve’s shoulder blades to guide him. “While you two take in the selection, I will measure Steve to make sure that his new frames fit.” She hands both Mike and Eddie a small tray lined with small cream-coloured shelves for the frames to rest on. The two take off in opposite directions. Steve wonders if he should have come back later after all.

Dr. LaValle guides him over to a small table with a few instruments on it. Working silently, she places a bulky thing on his face. It feels a bit like normal glasses, but heavy on top where mechanisms lay. His eyes nearly slip closed a few times while her fingers move his hair out of the way of his ears. Once she’s finished adjusting the adjustment glasses or whatever it was she was doing, Mike and Eddie have finished their rampage and are watching her intently. Or at least Steve thinks they are. Hard to tell when everything in the world is still so liquidy. As she moves parts of the weird glasses on his face, the frames shrink in some areas or grow in others, bending to fit the shape of his face. Finally, she takes the mechanism off, placing it carefully on the table.

"Right, let's see what you boys have. To soothe Steven, I will iterate that I have veto power as I am the only one of us who actually knows even the slightest thing about glasses."

It's almost like a game with Eddie and Mike placing frames on his face and trying not to laugh. It isn't like Steve can tell what they all properly look like, but the funny little waver in the doctor's voice, when she vetoes pair after pair of colourful coke bottle lenses, is telling enough. Steve tilts his face toward the mirror, hemming and hawing as if deeply considering the red cat-eye lenses that Mike has been giggling about for the past 30 seconds. It's Eddie in the end who breaks, laughing loudly as he snatches the frames off of Steve.

"You look like a fu– like a librarian , man"

"I don't know, I think it really brings the whole 'world's best babysitter' look together," Mike says, actually smiling for once even if it is at Steve's expense. 

In the end, after trying on all the goofy frames that the boys had picked out, it's the last pair on Eddie's tray that he settles on. While Mike had solely been searching for frames to make Steve look ridiculous, Eddie had actually grabbed a few that might work. He places them on Steve almost quietly. 

Dr. LaValle makes a delighted sound from her seat and even Mike nods in approval. It's still a bit hard to make out even as the eyedrops have started to wear out slightly, but they're definitely large. The frames are big and made of brown plastic, which Steve honestly thought he'd hate, but this shade is actually quickly becoming one of his favourites the more time he spends with Eddie. Which is a very pathetic thing to think, he knows , but it's a habit. Who was there to judge him when Nancy Wheeler's eyes made him fall in love with the colour blue? God, he sounds like a fucking Hallmark card.

Speaking of Eddie, he turns to face the man only to find his face bright red hiding behind a handful of hair.

"What's the verdict on these ones then, Munson?"

"They don't make you look as much like an idiot as the rest of the ones you tried." Mike offers. Steve levels him with a look.

"Thanks for your opinion, Eddie." He raises an eyebrow at Mike.

"They, uh– good! Good on you. Look– They look good." Eddie scrambles, voice slightly muffled with how he's pressing his long hair to his mouth. Were they not in public, Steve would be reaching over to grab his hand so fast right now. Stupid world.

"These the ones then, doc?"

"They do suit you quite well, Mr. Harrington." She nods, bringing her wiry hands up to remove them from his face. "If these are the ones we have settled on, I will send you to pay at reception. I can have these ready for you by tomorrow morning at the earliest if that is convenient for you. Your prescription is quite strong, so it may be best to warn you that it may take a while for your eyes to properly adjust. Be gentle with yourself. It may happen gradually, but for the first day or so, especially due to what we talked about earlier, you may suffer from eye strain-related migraines. Please do not be afraid to reach out to me with questions and concerns, or to your own circle for help."

"Sounds intense for a pair of glasses."

"That it is for some." She nods again, "Will you have someone to help you pick these up tomorrow?"

"I can take care of that!" Eddie chirps, voice a lot less garbled than it was a few minutes ago.

"Wonderful. And do remember what I spoke to you about earlier, Mr. Harrington. I will give my colleague a shout to let him know you will be in touch." Steve resolutely avoids eye contact with both Eddie and Mike as he rises to pay for his appointment and frames at the reception desk. The girl winks at him as she gives him the family and friends discount which makes Steve feel inexplicably uncomfortable. She must notice because she flushes slightly and mumbles something about speaking to one Joyce Byers on the phone the other day.

Eddie has to lead Steve back to the car with his hands on Steve's shoulders to keep him from tripping over the door jam. 

"We'll be back to collect tomorrow, thank you!" Eddie calls, polite as ever while Mike purposefully steps on the back of Steve's shoes.

Steve remembers going to an art exhibit with his aunt when he was still in single digits. It was a fancy affair with little plates of cheese and glasses of wine. He was wearing his first communion suit while Auntie Anna floated around in a glittery black gown. She'd brought her neighbour, Susan, and Steve as her guests of honour. The women had held hands all night as Anna spoke to men in tuxedos and women in colourful dresses about her pottery, which was displayed on pedestals around the room.

Looking out the window of his own vehicle as the world moved by makes him feel like he's trapped in one of his Aunt's vases. She'd been better at pottery than painting– Never quite getting the glaze right so that all the colours melted together to form an unrecognizable glass mountainscape across the ceramic. Auntie Anna and her friend Susan were banned from the Harrington household the day of Steve's ninth birthday party when Steve had kissed Terry Price square on his mouth because that's what Auntie Anna and Susan do and they're friends, right?

He hasn't spoken to them in far too long. Steve blindly fumbles for his notebook and pen to hand back to Mike, aware enough to realize that any attempt at writing will be illegible as soon as these eyedrops are done fucking with his eyes.

"What the hell's this for?" Mike asks, batting his hands at the notebook and pen.

"Language–" Eddie sings in unison with Michael McDonald on the radio– something Steve will make fun of him for later.

"Can you make a note for me so I remember– Thank you, Eddie– so that I can actually read it?" Steve says, trying to not drop the notebook and pen despite Mike's batting hands.

"You just keep a diary in here?" Mike asks in the tone Steve hates– the one he uses when he's about to start prying into people's business.

"Can you just– Yes, I keep a notebook , thank you very much, here so that I'm not always forgetting shit. Just flip to a random page– Wait , a blank page– No! " There's a beat of silence from the backseat.

"Are these– Is this all from our campaigns?" Mike's voice is weird. 

"What?" Eddie stops singing to twist back toward Mike. Steve's already too embarrassed to think about the way he grabs Eddie by the jaw to keep his eyes on the road. Doesn't stop him from thinking about how hot his cheeks are beneath his fingers, though, but only fleetingly.

"Yeah, yeah! Your printing fucking sucks, dude, but this is totally what happened a couple of sessions ago. Says right here 'Dustin's guy forgot he could cast invisibility and nearly got killed and that Will had to surprise the evil guy from behind so that they could get away'. It also says 'Eddie likes grape flavoured candy' under it?'"

"Shut up , oh my god, just give it back I'll write my own note."

"Aw, so mom does care about our 'nerdy paper game'" Mike is such a little shit what the fuck.

"It's important to you guys!" Steve all but whines, flailing one arm in the back for his notebook while the other hand still firmly holds Eddie's face. Wait fuck. He pulls his hand away from the grip it had on Eddie's jaw taking in how quiet and red the other man has gotten behind the wheel. "Oh my god, Eddie, I forgot I was grabbing you I'm so sorry"

"'T's fine," Eddie all but rasps, "No worries, man. It's cool. Dude."

Mike makes a gagging noise which immediately has Steve's attention back on him. 

"Gimme my fuckin' notebook or write in it for me, you little shit!" 

"No, I wanna talk more about how you’re actually secretly a huge nerd, I think”

“Don’t lump me in with y–”

“You are! You even have the nerd glasses now!”

“They aren’t nerd glasses. They don’t make me look like a nerd!”

“How do you know? You couldn’t even see yourself in the mirror!”

“They kind of do, but in, like, a cute nerdy way,” Eddie seems to have recovered enough to join in on the teasing, which Steve both hates and loves. Mike fakes another gag in the backseat. Eddie’s hand clamps down firmly on Steve’s shoulder, pulling him back into the passenger’s seat from where he’d nearly climbed into the back. “Now sit the fuck back down. Mike, give the man his D&Diary.”

“Nooo…” Steve complies but shoves his burning face in his hands at the nickname. His notebook and pen land in his lap.

“Yes, dad,” Mike intones, mocking.

“Why are you even in the car right now?” Steve grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, “I thought we were dropping you back off with Nancy or something.”

“Oh, nah, forgot to say, didn’t I? Little Wheeler’s coming to the Hopper-Byers dinner tonight, so I figured we could just drive him. No use in him biking the whole way when we’re heading straight there, yeah.”

“Maybe biking would do the kid some good. I hear that exercise does wonders for a shitty attitude.” Steve sticks his tongue out childishly at the boy in the back. Mike flips him off in return.

“It’s like I’m driving around a bunch of children.” Eddie sighs out a laugh. The car rolls to a stop at a red light, “What was it you wanted to make a note of, Stevie?”

“Just a reminder to write my Aunt and ask how she and her– um. To see how she and her… partner are. I haven’t heard from them in a long time. Was thinking of them.” Why is this so embarrassing to say out loud? Checking to make sure that the light is still red, Eddie swipes the notebook from Steve’s lap, flipping till he finds a blank page, and swiftly writes out what Steve has said. 

“There you go.” He says, almost softly, depositing the book and pen back on top of Steve’s legs right as the light changes. He clears his throat, “Her partner?”

“Um.”

“Was it a gay thing?” Mike– Christ, he forgot the kid was there, says bluntly from the back, “You can say if it’s a gay thing. We’re all adults here.”

“I wouldn’t get ahead of yourself, short stack. You’re literally still a child,” Eddie teases, giving Steve an out if he wants to follow through with it.

“Her partner, yes. Susan. They were together, like, yeah. I haven’t heard from them since my dad cut contact. You know how family is.” Steve says haltingly, turning to look back out the window. The eye drops are starting to wear off more. It makes Steve miss his Aunt even more now that the world outside the windows is starting to take concrete shape instead of moulting into the watery blurry mass he was seeing before.

“What’s got you thinking?” Eddie asks, hand coming to casually rest on Steve’s thigh.

“The eyedrops, me being tired, I dunno,” It makes Steve laugh to say it out loud, “She’s an artist, but not good with paint. Everything being kind of wacked out with my pupils this big makes me think of her pottery.”

“That’s surprisingly sweet, Harrington,” Eddie says quietly. Mike retches in the back again.

“Can you fucking quit it!” Steve throws a hand back to swat at the kid’s knee who just bursts out laughing.

“No, watching you two is like seeing my parents kiss! It’s gross!”

“We’re not even doing anything you little twerp!”

“You’re doing enough.” He’s still laughing when Steve turns around grumbling about ungrateful little brats. Eddie’s laughing too, but the faint dusting of pink on his cheekbones hasn’t left. It takes a moment for his tired brain to remember that Eddie’s hand is still on his thigh, but when he does he laces their fingers together, squeezing gently. He’ll write a letter later when he has his eyesight back. Maybe Joyce has stamps that he can borrow. He smiles softly at Eddie who looks fondly back. He hopes Anna and Susan still have the same address.

Chapter Text

The Hopper-Byers cabin is in a state of absolute chaos when the BMW rolls up the winding dirt road. Eddie unrolls the windows to Steve’s BMW in a state of shock at the near-manic cackling coming from inside the house. Every single window has been thrown open to let plumes of smoke escape. Will and Argyle are standing in two of the windows with dish towels, trying to fan smoke out the windows. Noticeably, Hopper’s car is missing. Jonathan is sitting on the front stoop with a joint in one hand and the landline phone stretched through the front door, cord taut against the doorframe. He waves with a small smile as if it doesn't look like the end of the world has been centralized in his living room.

Steve knows all this because Eddie has spent the back half of their drive to the cabin narrating important pieces of their surroundings. It makes Steve's heart sting in a way that makes him go over heart attack symptoms like drills in his head. The knowledge is leftover from the mandatory first aid course he took for the swim team. Mike interjects in his own way which is both sweet and annoying.

"Yes, mom… Yep. Yeah, he's on his way to get you. No–" El peaks her head out the door, the gleam in her eyes proving that the laughter inside was all her. She bounces once in the door, before vaulting her way down the steps. Jonathan pats the back of her calf as she jumps past, "We have everything except bacon. Or sausages. Yeah, I'll check." He covers the receiver with one hand to address the crew that's just arrived, "Sausages or bacon?"

"Sausage," Mike shouts at the same time as Steve says that he doesn't mind either way. Eddie pulls El in for a big hug like it's been years not hours since they last saw each other. Once she's through with Eddie, she drags Mike bodily into the cabin.

"What am I? Chopped liver?" Steve calls after them. In El's absence, the smoke billowing out the windows slows to wisps that pick up once more as she re-enters the cabin. The older two join Jonathan on the porch.

"Okay, we'll see you soon. Okay. Yeah– Okay. Love you." Jonathan's eyes are laughing as he puts the phone down. "El! Catch the phone please!" He calls back before chucking the receiver back into the house. Eddie bursts out laughing as El's powers redirect themselves from the smoke to the phone with a frustrated 'Jonathan!'

"So things are going well here, it seems." Eddie laughs, leaning almost fully on top of Steve as he tries to catch his breath.

"Hopper forgot to turn the oven off when he left to get mom and then forgot to tell anyone to watch the dinner at all. The fire's out, but–"

"Breakfast for dinner?" Steve finishes his sentence.

"Breakfast for dinner, yeah," Jonathan's eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs. It makes Steve glad he chose this group over his old one.

"Wow, so this really is a regular occurrence?" Eddie asks.

"We have fire extinguishers in every room in the house, so yeah. I've fixed our stove so much at this point that I feel like I could do it as a job." Jonathan's smile softens, "I'm glad he's back, though. I'm glad we're all together. Man, sorry this shit's making me sappy." He offers the back half of his joint to Eddie and Steve who both decline. He shrugs and stubs it out to finish later. He flicks his hair out of his face.

"Do you want some help with that, dude? How can you even see? Come here," Steve waddles awkwardly over on his knees to sit behind Jonathan. As if it's routine, Eddie lifts his arm so that Steve can slip an elastic from his wrist. Jonathan leans back slightly and kicks his legs in the dirt as Steve swiftly pulls the top half of his hair back into a short ponytail. It's different from Eddie's hair– smooth and thin instead of frizzy and thick. Eddie is watching him with an indiscernible expression.

"I'm gonna go help Argyle wrangle the kids." He says, voice thick and face a dusty pink. Steve raises an eyebrow at him, but nods.

"Yeah sure, we'll follow you in a minute," Jonathan responds for the both of them, humming something quietly under his breath while Steve loops the hair tie around his hair. Will immediately begins rambling happily at Eddie as soon as he sets foot in the door. The distinct sound of a dish towel hitting someone in the head comes from inside. "So…"

"So…?" Steve finishes with Jon's hair and rejoins him on the edge of the porch. The sky is just beginning to bleed from blue to pastel oranges. Any clouds that have collected overhead during the day have burned off with the evening heat. Steve pulls at the collar of his t-shirt 

"Will talked to me about some stuff today. I already knew about the stuff– we'd talked about it before, him and I"

"Talked about… the stuff," It hasn't been this weird between the two in years.

"Yeah. Boy stuff." Jonathan says simply.

" Oh. The stuff." Steve can feel his heart rate pick up, "Listen, man, whatever he told you I–"

"Steve, no, no! I'm trying to say you just– you can… talk to me, I guess? I know things have been weird before, but, uh. People are safe here. Will is safe, Hopper doesn't care, and you know how mom is. Argyle and I are– we're, uh, y'know, we–"

"I thought you and Nancy–?" God, this is the most uncomfortable conversation he's ever had to have. It's even worse than the shovel talk from Mr. Buckley he had to desperately talk his way out of the seventh time he stayed the night at Robin's.

"Oh, we are. Argyle and I just also… uh," Jonathan pinches the bridge of his nose to get away from Steve's glare, "God, it's not like that man. She knows, I swear. We have this– she– we– this is not how I thought this was going to go. We can talk about Nancy and me later maybe when Nancy is here, okay?"

"Alright, alright. What's this all about then?" Steve allows, raising his hands in surrender. Jonathan smirks at him which throws Steve because he's never seen the expression on the other boy's face in the whole time he's known him. For a flash of a second, the expression makes him think of a very different day years ago with Lonnie Byers arguing with his dad on the front lawn. Although the memory comes to him unbidden Steve has to physically stop himself from digging his nails into his face for making the comparison.

"So, Eddie, huh?" Steve's face immediately heats up, because what the fuck this is the second Byers boy to notice his stupid fucking crush in one day, and that means he's being way too obvious. Steve claps his hands over Jonathan's mouth. If this were any other situation he'd be laughing alongside him, but the feeling of Jon's teeth smiling against his palms only makes him feel more jittery.

"Oh my god, shut up he could hear you," Steve hisses out, which only makes the corners of Jonathan's eyes crinkle up more. "This is insane. Your house is on fire and you're out here trying to give me gay relationship advice,"

"We put the fire out!" John laughs when he's finally able to tug Steve's hands off his face. 

"I'm going inside," Steve says abruptly, ignoring Jonathan's laugh that follows him. The sight that greets him is almost enough to send him back out to brave more conversation with Jonathan. Eddie is standing at the stove with his hair tied back in a low ponytail wearing the apron Steve bought Jonathan as a gag gift for Christmas. It's frilly and pink with a heart embroidered on the chest. Beside him on either side, El and Will are helping him mix ingredients in a big bowl. Peter Cetera's voice drifts from the clock radio on top of the fridge which all three sing along to, mostly vocalizing vowels because they don't know the words. Before Steve can do something stupid like wrap his arms around Eddie from behind and spin him around, Eddie smiles at him over his shoulder.

"Hi, sweetheart," Eddie greets him like it's the easiest thing in the world. His eyes look like they're glittering. Holy fuck.

"Hi, Eddie," Steve feels like all the oxygen has been stolen from his lungs.

"Hi Mike and Argyle," Mike mocks as he kicks his legs up onto the sofa in the adjoining sitting room. The sound comes back into the room with the reminder that there are other people here. He turns to wave at Argyle with one hand and flip Mike off with the other.

"It's not smoky in here,"

"Thanks, captain obvious, it's because we got the smoke out." Mike has such an annoyingly knowing look in his eyes that Steve briefly wonders if Nancy would be mad if Steve killed her brother. Eddie spins him around by the hips to sit him down at the kitchen table.

"Sit. You still look drugged, man, put your feet up. You can help clean up later."

"Yes, chef," Steve grins up at him slyly. And Steve really needs to get his mind out of the gutter because Eddie has to lean down to meet his eyes where he's sitting, and it’s doing things to Steve’s exhausted brain. "Are you sure you don't need any help, though? I can set the table or something."

"Argyle's got it covered. All you need to do right now is sit there and look pretty," He says quietly right in front of Steve's face, just loud enough for him to hear. His eyes are pits– the last dregs of eye drops making Eddie's pupils blend seamlessly into the brown of his irises. Oh, okay. Okay. Steve's brain short circuits as his face heats up. All he can do about any of it is make a sharp squeaking sound in response. Eddie laughs and saunters back to the kids at the counter shooting a sharp, "Wheeler, get your shoes off before you get dirt on the couch. Have some fucking manners, man."

"Watch your language, there are children present!" Mike shouts back. Steve yawns wide, the lack of sleep catching up with him. Giving in, he let his eyes fuzz out, watching Argyle fumble around plates and glasses from Joyce's cabinets. None of the cups match– something his mother probably would've made fun of the family for– something that endears Steve even more to the family. Finally relaxed, he lowers his head to rest on top of his arms, allowing himself to relax. For the next little bit, Steve dozes in and out of wakefulness, his eyes feeling like marbles stuffed with cotton. His tongue feels swollen with sleep, which is weird because he's obviously not sleeping.

He remembers the next hour or so in snapshots. Argyle setting dishes on the table, gently pushing Steve's head out of the way to put a plate in front of him. The boy spends an extra moment behind Steve's chair petting his hair and saying… something. Steve doesn't remember. El pushes Mike away from his bleary face and Steve only registers the sharpie that was centimetres from his nose as he's dozing off again. The crackle-pop of Hopper's tires pulling up out front followed by conversation and the tell-tale creak of the screen door. It's Will who eventually jostles him awake by repeatedly poking him on the cheek.

"Steve," He's whispering which kind of doesn't make sense if he's trying to actually wake him up, "Hey Steve, dinner's ready."

Steve grumbles awake, blinking heavily. The table is full of people who are all looking at him, which is a shocking enough sight that Steve almost falls out of his chair if not for Hopper's arm keeping the chair from toppling over.

"Whoa, easy," he says around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. He's the only one who's started eating, Steve notes. There's a full plate of breakfast food sitting in front of him. 

"Did I fall asleep?" Steve asks stupidly, because of course he did what did he think happened?

"Yeah, man, but those eye bags could be considered designer in some circles. Figured you needed some shut-eye, right?" Argyle drawls, eyes a bit redder than Steve remembers them being when he first walked into the house. Jonathan gives him a look that Steve's too tired to decipher and promptly digs into his food.

"At the kitchen table, though?"

"Hey, it's fine. We've all been there," Jonathan says with a shrug. Weirdly enough, that sets Will off into a fit of giggles which gets him weird looks from the non-Byers in the group. Joyce covers her mouth with her cup of coffee in that way she does when she doesn't want her kids to know she's laughing at them. As soon as Will opens his mouth intending to speak instead of giggle, Jonathan pelts him in the head with a grape, "Do not say what you're thinking,"

And now Steve's intrigued. Argyle leans so fully into Jonathan's face that he's nearly falling into the other man's lap. Even El, who's sitting on Will's other side looks confused.

"Alright, I'll bite. What's set you off, kid," It's Hopper who finally caves. By the look on Jonathan's face, this is the worst-case scenario, because he can't threaten Chief Hopper . On the other side of Hop, Mike leans forward with a potential-blackmail gleam in his eye.

"Yes, please , Will, go on," 

"Was thinking of years ago at Thanksgiving," Will grins from ear to ear while Jonathan sinks down in his seat. "Mom had just gotten her new job, so we were gonna go out to eat for once, but Jonathan had been up all night studying–" He starts giggling again, so Joyce picks up earning a betrayed glare from her eldest son.

"We got all dressed up– one of our first times going out since Lonnie– Jon was even wearing a blazer. The place was pretty crowded it was the– what is it now– it's a hotel now. The place on the edge of town?"

"The casino?" Hopper fills in. Joyce snaps her fingers at him, pointing.

"Yes! They used to do buffets in the event rooms at the old casino off the highway. It was the place to be for every family who didn't want to cook for the holidays–"

"We showed up and John kept yawning, but said he was fine. He couldn't even stay awake–" Will cuts in, "He waited till we'd gotten our plates ‘n started eating before falling asleep in his mashed potatoes" Jonathan has all but slipped under the table, his hands covering his red face. It's hilarious to watch the other boy like this when he's seen him setting actual monsters on fire, and kicking ass in sci-fi laboratories from hell. 

"It's not funny! I didn't know Mrs. Click was there," Jonathan grumbles from beneath his hands. Eddie leans forward, looking positively giddy, "She asked me if I'd gotten the cranberry jelly out of my hair in front of the whole class the next day in History,"

Will has fallen back into laughter, joined swiftly by Argyle and Eddie. The table devolves into laughter while Jonathan yells wordlessly, hands still burying the sounds. The bright red on his face is made even more visible now that his hair isn't hiding his face. Soon enough, Argyle takes the heat off of his friend by sharing an embarrassing story of his own. The table quickly devolves into stories passed around through bouts of laughter and bites of food. Steve stretches out his leg under the table to tap Jonathan's calf, giving him a little grin that mostly means 'sorry for laughing at you but thanks for taking the eyes off me'.

“You think that’s embarrassing, but I’m a grown man and I nearly burned down the house in an attempt to feed my family,”

“Oh, yes! Thank you for cooking, Eddie, this turned out wonderfully!” Joyce reaches over to pat the back of Eddie’s hand. Eddie blushes at the praise

"The best scrambled eggs I've ever had, man. Did you put paprika in here?" Argyle says.

"...No?" Steve can't help but laugh at the confusion painted on Eddie's face.

Mike, El, and Will are chatting which is only slightly annoying because Mike is halfway across the table from the other two. Steve eats half of his plate slowly, but his whole body feels like it's being dragged downward with his exhaustion. The only thing keeping him with it is the fact that they're packed so tightly at the kitchen table that Will's bony little elbows keep stabbing him in the side. He never would have thought that Will would talk so much with his hands before he got to know the boy. Both Argyle and Jonathan have polished off their plates and are in the process of 'sneaking out’, but Joyce is stifling laughter while Hopper very unsubtle averts his eyes. 

Giving up on his food, Steve rests his chin on his palms. His gaze softens as he watches everyone interact. At some point, Hopper and Eddie switch seats so that Hopper can talk quietly with Joyce. They really are sweet with each other. Steve’s glad they’ve figured their whole thing out. Mike moves to stand behind El and Will’s chairs, one hand on the back of each. It feels nice to just sit back and watch everyone. He’s too tired to think of much to say. Speaking feels like an impossible task.

He becomes aware slowly of Eddie’s hand rubbing circles into his thigh. He’s been staring at the kids for long enough that they’ve started glancing over at him in confusion.

“Steve, honey are you okay?” Mrs. Byers asks. Some part of his brain registers her saying it like he’s ticking off a task on a to-do list. Even though he registers it, he can’t find it in him to turn his head or respond. His eyelids blink heavily and Steve sleeps through it. Four years ago Steve learned what it meant to take naps with blinks. Eyelids closed for a second longer than usual– blessed darkness behind his eyelids in fleeting moments– No sleep, no nightmares.

The world blurs sleepily around him and suddenly he’s looking Eddie in the eye with someone’s hand gently holding his chin– probably Eddie's. The touch makes him smile lazily. He might hum. His vocal cords may vibrate. He can’t tell.

“–Happened earlier before we did the portal stuff.” Will? Says. He’s a little tentative. Steve almost furrows his brow– he’s fine. Why is the kid so worried? One of Eddie’s hands is still tracing soothing circles into the top of Steve’s thigh. It feels warm through his jeans.

“You can come back whenever, sweetheart, take your time.” Eddie’s voice is gentle if a little high-strung. It sounds like music, “I think he’s just overtired,” Eddie says more as a question than a statement. He’s saying it to Hopper and Joyce maybe?

“I’ve seen things like this, yeah.” Hopper’s voice feels quiet and cottony. “Just give ‘im a minute.”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, “Yeah.”

This is a nice dream. It’s been such a long time since he’s had a good dream. Like moving through honey, Steve intertwines his fingers with the hand on his thigh, raising it up to rest against his heart.

“I’m okay,” He whispers. His voice is quiet but the effort it takes to speak is nearly unbearable, “‘M just dreaming a little bit.”

“Okay,” Eddie responds, matching Steve’s volume as though they’re alone together. “Do you want to go home to get some sleep?”

Speaking is too hard to think about. Focusing on words feels like reaching into a cloud and blindly grasping at letters to string together. He closes his eyes and shrugs. He mouths the word ‘tired’ and hopes Eddie understands. Will is watching them intently, Steve knows. He can feel the kid’s eyes stuck on the clasp of their hands held to Steve’s chest. Mike is blessedly silent for once. It makes sense. He’s been with El before– he knows moments similar to this.

“Do you boys want to stay here tonight?” Mrs. Byers asks gently. The world looks so colourful and fake like it’s been stripped from a movie backdrop and pasted behind the Hopper-Byers' dinner table. Steve smiles at her, squinting his eyes with his grin. He shakes his head minutely and points at Eddie. The puff of laughter that comes from Eddie’s mouth is pretty. “Okay, honey. You’re always welcome here, though. You know that right?” Steve nods, but his attention has been entirely stolen by the feeling of Eddie’s rings. He absentmindedly turns back to Eddie to play with the other boy’s hands. 

“Okay, Stevie, okay.” Eddie laughs quietly and slips one of his rings from his finger into Steve’s palm. “Do you want to come back or just stay where you are right now? In your head I mean.”

Steve shakes his head and then keeps nodding it back and forth just to watch in interest at the way the world drags behind the movement just slightly.

Steve and Eddie are in the BMW pulling into Steve’s driveway when Steve comes to with a gasp and not a single idea how they got here. He’s wearing Hopper’s jacket over his shoulders. One of Eddie’s rings is sitting snug on his thumb. Eddie is humming to himself in the silence of the car, one hand tapping the steering wheel while the other holds Steve by the wrist.

“I forgot to ask Joyce for a stamp,” Steve finally says. It’s the first thing he thinks once he’s taken in his surroundings. “How did we get here?” He hates how Eddie jumps with obvious shock at hearing his voice. There’s a warm Tupperware sitting on his lap that he can only assume is the rest of his dinner.

“Steve,” Eddie says his name like it’s the only thing allowing him to breathe, “Baby, you scared me,”

His voice is quiet and his eyes are trained on the closed garage door. Steve benignly realizes that he feels guilty, but he doesn’t know what to do about that besides–

“Sorry,” The word is almost an exhale.

“Nothing to apologize for.” Eddie finally turns toward him. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed. “You’re back now? Or are you still floaty,”

Steve wants to reach over, take Eddie in his arms and shelter him away from the whole world just to make him stop looking like that.

“I’m with you. I’m just tired.”

“For sure?”

“For sure,” Steve nods, yawns, and blinks tiredly at the other man. He tilts his hand so that Eddie’s loose grip on his wrist falls, palm facing upward on Steve’s thigh. "Everything's a little muffled. Exhaustion."

"Let's go inside then," Eddie says. Steve still him with a hand on his arm.

"Wait, are you okay?" 

"Am I okay?" Eddie's laugh sounds wet. He's turned away from Steve again which he doesn't like. He runs his hand lightly down Eddie's arm to copy the man's touch from earlier, carefully tugging his wrist toward him. The pads of his fingers catch on the elastics on Eddie's wrist. "Yeah, baby, I'm okay."

The air in the car is thick but not uncomfortable. It feels like one wrong move could break whatever moment they're stuck in. While he registers it, Steve doesn't truly understand. Somehow, it reminds him of the conversation they'd had last night about nail polish. Steve runs his free hand over Eddie's fingers, playing with his hand.

"Don't play that game with me, Munson," Steve echoes Eddie's words from that morning. "Hey, you can talk to me. You told me you would tell me what you're feeling."

Eddie puffs out a breath and sniffs wetly. His free hand comes up to scrub at his eyes, "No, because I don't want to be a dick. It's not– This isn't about me."

"It's not 'about' anyone, okay? This isn't a movie or something. Talk to me?"

"God, it's just stupid though."

"Not to me. Not if it upsets you." Steve feels a bit like he's trying to get a wild dog to eat out of his hand. Maybe it's an unfair comparison, but Eddie is taut and tense, head still straight ahead refusing to look at Steve. His free hand is shaking, pressed against his face. "I'm not gonna be mad,"

"You scared me," Somehow Eddie's voice gets quieter. Steve sucks in a breath and seals his lips. He doesn't want to scare Eddie away by replying, "You can't do anything about it, but you scared me. I'm sorry– you just went quiet and– and you stopped moving and stopped responding. I thought– and it's dumb because you could still hear me most of the time, right?" Eddie finally tears his eyes away from the garage door to look at Steve. His face is wild and helpless. The headlights have clicked off, leaving them mostly in darkness which makes Eddie's expression nearly invisible.

"Most of the time, yeah. That hasn't happened in a while. I think you were right about it being from not sleeping enough. Maybe." Steve allows himself to respond. Eddie nods, lips pressed thin.

"Yeah, you, like, reacted a couple times. Like you smiled at me at dinner and you heard El getting worried in the car but your eyes were– I th– It was like when– Chrissy– " and then Eddie chokes on a sob, and Steve can't hold himself back anymore. Unthinking, he climbs over the centre console to get as close to the other man as possible, holding him tightly. For a split second, Eddie freezes, but then he's collapsing into Steve, burying his face in his neck and making these small whimpering sounds that hurt Steve's heart.

Eddie's a quiet crier. His sounds are stilled to gasps and small whines that are cut off almost as suddenly as they're vocalized. He's quiet but Steve can feel the moment he lets go of the tension he'd packed into himself. Steve is rubbing circles into the space between Eddie's shoulderblades, tugging him closer and closer and Eddie– Eddie starts shaking.

It happens all at once, mostly localized to his arms and shoulders, but soon enough his thighs are trembling under Steve's and his hands are quaking where they've dug themself into Steve's t-shirt. He barely even realizes he's whispering into Eddie's hair.

"It's okay, we're okay. I'm alive–" and so on being pressed into Eddie's skull like it'll make him understand better if he transmits the words directly into his friend's brain. Time passes. Eddie stops crying, but he doesn't untangle himself from Steve and he certainly doesn't stop shaking.

"I'm sorry," he eventually says, lips moving minutely against the collar of Steve's shirt. Steve makes a noise in the back of his throat.

"Are you cold?" He responds instead of acknowledging the apology. It's unnecessary. Eddie's head moves the slightest bit in a tiny nod against Steve's neck. "Can I get your hair out of your face for you?" He asks. Another nod. The questions are unrelated.

Steve leans back just enough to rest his back against the steering wheel without putting pressure on the horn. It's not a lot of space, but it's enough for Steve to slip an elastic from Eddie's wrist. He's running low after sharing some with Argyle and Jonathan yesterday. Steve makes a mental note to buy a new packet for him to have. He combs his hands through Eddie's hair, keeping the movements gentle as he pulls the hair back into a loose bun. Eddie spends the whole time looking miserably downward– avoiding Steve's eyes. His hands are still quivering where they're gripping the back of Steve's shirt.

"Sorry," he says again when his hair has been pulled up. Steve hums again, refusing to acknowledge Eddie's words. He slips out of Hopper's jacket and pulls Eddie forward enough to slip it over his shoulders instead. Steve runs hot anyways. "Please say something, I'm sorry" 

"I'm not accepting your apology, Eds. You don't need to apologize so I'm not taking it. I don't want it" Steve huffs with a fond eyeroll. His words sound like something that would be exchanged between kids on a playground. "We should go inside, though. I wasn't kidding about being tired, and you could probably use the rest too."

"Okay," Eddie finally looks up at Steve, looking soft, vulnerable, and so very red. Steve stops with his hand on the door handle.

"Thank you for taking care of me today. Can I take care of you now?"

"You still need taking care of." Eddie's face gets darker. His hands slide down to Steve's waist. They're still shaking. 

"We'll take care of each other, then, okay?"

"Okay," Eddie says again. Steve nods and finally opens the door, slipping off of Eddie's lap to stand on the driveway. Only when his feet hit the pavement does he fully comprehend that he was just fucking sitting in Eddie's lap, Jesus Christ.

He nearly drops the key and when he picks it up again it still takes too long to fumble it into the lock. Eddie stands behind him holding the Tupperware of food. They stay quiet as Steve flips on some lights, toes his shoes off, and pads into the kitchen. He pulls two mugs from the cabinet, steadfastly pretending that his face isn't on fire. The adrenaline is almost enough to make him forget how foggy the whole world is with exhaustion. 

"What are you making?" Eddie asks. He's set himself down at the counter behind Steve.

"Chamomile tea," Steve sets the kettle on high. "Dustin and Claudia make it for me sometimes when I can't sleep over there. Finally caved and got a box for myself."

"Ooh, I've never had it," Eddie's voice is still uncharacteristically quiet and crackly from earlier. Steve wants to make it better so bad. But also his mind is fixating and he needs to say something or he'll explode, because earlier–

"Did you call me baby?" Steve blurts out, and he knows he's gone crimson, but so has Eddie. Eddie's eyes get wide, and sure it's because he's embarrassed, but Steve celebrates the expression because at least it isn't sad.

"Oh my god, I did, sorry," He squeaks. Steve wants to kiss him for that sound if he's being honest. " Sorry , I got it from my aunt. Oh for Christ's sake this is humiliating. It's a bad habit. When I'm nervous the pet names just slip out, I can't even help it. Wayne used to tease us all the time about it. I'll stop–,"

"No!" Both of them shut up, surprised at the suddenness of Steve's voice. "You don't have to stop! I think it's– I think it's sweet? God." Steve's voice keeps getting higher as he keeps talking and he's two seconds away from slapping himself in the face by the time Eddie bursts out laughing.

"I never took Steve Harrington as someone who loves pet names. Aren't they too soft for you, tough guy?" 

"Shut up," Steve grouses, turning back around to both hide his burning face and put some honey into the mugs. Instead of doing something stupid like talking about his feelings, Steve changes the subject. "Tell me about your aunt,"

It's comfortable, warm, and easy to pour water into the mugs to steep and then join Eddie at the counter. He links their fingers. Eddie's eyes are still puffy and red and his hands are shaking minutely, but he's smiling again. It's good. It's okay.

"You want to hear about my aunt?" Eddie's almost incredulous. Steve nods, "Dude, I wanna hear about your aunt."

"We can do both? You tell me something and I'll tell you something. You've already got one-up on me– I don't even know yours' name, dude. You're holding out on me."

"You've got me there."

"So?"

"Her name was Harriet,"

"Was?"

"...I'd rather not talk about it, now," Eddie sighs, "maybe another day?"

"Which side of the family," Steve asks instead.

"She was my mom's sister. Eldest of three. What about yours? Tell me about Anna,"

"She's my dad's younger sister. They haven't spoken in a long time, though, not since, y'know," Steve wiggles his hand around ambiguously, "since they found out."

"Did you spend a lot of time with her?"

"Yeah, she was my go-to babysitter till we lost touch. I think I was nine? Every time my parents left I'd be dropped at Anna's for a month or so," Steve blows on his tea to cool it down. Eddie's brow furrows.

"What'd they do after you stopped being taken care of by Anna?"

"Oh, they just left me." Steve says dismissively, "I'd rather not talk about that either. Not right now, at least. They figured I was old enough to use a phone, so I was old enough to take care of the place when they were out of town."

"Okay," Eddie says slowly, but he doesn't press. "The trailer we live in is Harriet's. Wayne inherited it after everything."

"Tell me about her?" Steve leans, on one hand, cradling his mug in the other. A small smile appears on Eddie's face.

"She's who taught me to play guitar, actually! Not electric, though. She was more of an Elvis kinda gal, but she bought me my first Led Zep record. She used to work at a summer camp for three months of the year as a music director," 

"She sounds great,"

"Yeah, well… yeah." Eddie pulls a ring off of his pinky finger, "This one was hers. It was a promise ring from Wayne, but she gave it to me in the hospital. It only fits on my pinky though."

"This one's Anna's," Steve points to a large ceramic bowl that sits on top of the kitchen cupboards– simultaneously displayed and hidden from use. "It was a housewarming gift. I'm gonna write to her tomorrow, but I need to buy some stamps."

This time, they do Steve's nightly routine together minus the shower obviously. Steve gets Eddie a toothbrush to keep at the house and tries not to think about how it makes his heart flutter in his chest. They brush their teeth side by side, change into similar pairs of Steve's pyjamas, and fix up the blanket nest that has been left in a heap on the bed. Before they settle down, Steve dabs some of the lavender oil onto his temples and then leans into Eddie's space to do the same for him. 

Eddie pulls him back against him into the pile of blankets, holding him close as he tucks them in. 

"What do you do when you wake up in the middle of the night?"

"Regularly, or are you quizzing me on what I'm supposed to do."

"Tonight, smart ass,"

"Well you told me to wake you up when I do, but–"

"And that's what you'll do, right?" Eddie's voice is low and tired, rumbling against Steve's back where they're pressed together.

"Well…"

" Steve," Eddie shuffles an arm up to tilt Steve's head backwards gently forcing him to look him in the eyes, "Please?"

Steve's throat clicks when he swallows. The room is dark enough that he can't make out much of Eddie's face, but every point of contact between them tingles. "R– right. Yeah, I'll– yeah." It's doing something funny to his stomach that he knows Eddie can feel his breath over his jaw. God, this was a bad idea. Eddie lets go of his face.

"Good. I'm a light sleeper, big boy, I'll know." If not for the vice of Eddie's arms around his middle, Steve would absolutely be unable to stop himself from rolling over to kiss him. Maybe Jonathan was onto something. Maybe he should talk to someone about all of this– not Eddie. Eddie yawns. "What did the Byers boys have to talk to you about today, anyways?" He must feel Steve tense in his arms because he starts to coo like he’s putting a baby to sleep, “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Relax, sweetheart, let’s just go to bed.”

“Sweetheart again, huh?” Steve croaks out, “What’s got you nervous now, Munson.”

“You’re a loser. I should have never told you that,” Eddie quips, “Nothing’s got me nervous, you just seemed to like that one. It’s not only when I’m nervous. It just always happens when I am. That doesn’t make sense,”

“No, I get it. And to answer your question, uh, I do want to tell you maybe just not right now?” Because there’s literally nothing Steve can think of that’s worse than telling his male friend that he’s into guys while they’re front-to-back spooning in his double bed. Steve yawns loudly into his fist.

“Sounds like a plan,” The shape of Eddie’s words clues Steve in that he’s smiling even before Eddie presses his smile onto the back of Steve’s head. “Now rest, Harrington. We’ve got another big day tomorrow. Gotta get you those dorky little specs, don’t we?”

Chapter Text

The moment Steve blinks awake, he starts composing a letter to his aunt in his head. There's golden sunlight streaming through the blinds, puffs of air gentle on the back of his neck and a nice weight slung across his waist. He smiles.

Dear Anna,

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write to you. How are you doing? How's Susan? I miss you two more than I can let on with just paper and pen. I hope you haven't moved, because I really want this to get to you–

"What time 's it?" Eddie grumbles, rolling over slightly in his sleep. His voice is hot enough, but his grip tightens on Steve's waist as he turns and ends up dragging Steve with him. Which is also very hot if not more hot. Jesus Christ. Steve, ever consistent, ruins the moment by attempting to shrug which just results in him jamming Eddie's jaw shut with his shoulder.

"Holy shit, oh my god–" Steve rolls fully over when Eddie's teeth click together. He leans down to grab Eddie's jaw with both hands, tilting his head slightly to check him over. "Shit, did I hurt you?"

"No," Eddie all but squeaks, face red, and body frozen. He still has one arm around Steve's waist. "You didn't hurt me,"

"You sure?"

"Positive," His voice is raspy with sleep. His fingers dance along Steve's spine absently like he's not aware that he's doing it. Steve pats him on the cheek.

"Good stuff," Steve slides off of Eddie, mourning the loss of the other man's hand on him as it falls weakly onto the mattress. He squints at the alarm clock on his dresser across the room, "Uh, it's almost ten. Holy fuck, man."

"What?" 

"Holy shit, dude, I haven't slept this long in years, holy fuck. That's it– you're never leaving."

"Wayne might not love that–"

"I can work with that. You've got a bed at your's, don't you?"

"I do." Eddie's voice is strained. When Steve looks over his shoulder, the man is bright red and clutching the sheets intensely.

"You good?"

"Yeah, actually can I use your shower?"

"Oh, sure dude. Feel free to use any of my shit. I probably don't have the kind of products or whatever you use to keep your hair so, y'know," Steve gestures at the other man's head, making him laugh so hard he has to curl in on himself.

"Keep my hair so what now?" Eddie gasps out, "Man, you've seen my place. How does any of this lend to anything except the bottle of 3-in-1 sitting in my shower back at the trailer?"

"No way! How the fuck do you get your hair looking like that with 3-in-1? That's fucking insane," There's no way. There's no way he looks this good without using fucking conditioner.

"It's all genetics, baby," Eddie grins up at him. 

"Oh my god, well have fun learning about the wonders of Fabergé Organics. I'm gonna go make coffee. Should be a towel in there for you," It's all Steve can do to escape as soon as he physically can before he starts picturing his friend in the fucking shower.

The coffee is made and there's breakfast sizzling on the stove by the time Eddie walks downstairs, scrunching his hair with a hand towel. There's a soft sound as the towel is deposited onto one of the kitchen chairs, followed by the feeling of Eddie's arms snaking around Steve's middle. His chin comes to rest on his shoulder, watching Steve's spatula push around some hashbrowns and scrambled eggs. One of Eddie's hands releases Steve's middle to snag the half-drunk mug of coffee beside him.

"Good morning again," He says, voice distorted by the coffee mug he's raising to his mouth. It's absolutely criminal that the other man has pressed himself so close that Steve can feel him swallow. "The way you make your coffee is revolting,"

"What!? It's just milk and sugar, what the fuck do you mean? It's literally the most basic way to make it"

"'Basic' he says," Eddie teases. Steve spins around in his arms to jab the other boy defiantly in the chest with his spatula. Which is a mistake, because now he has to think about how close they're standing and how Eddie's hair looks even curlier than usual even though it's still damp.

"Hang on, the coffee I brought you for breakfast yesterday had milk and sugar and you drank it without complaining,"

"Well, yeah, what was I gonna do? Waste it? I've got manners, Harrington,"

"Well, how do you take it then?" Steve asks, immediately regretting his phrasing when Eddie's eyes light up in delight, "Your coffee , moron, how do you take your coffee. You’re a child, and I hate you. "

"Oh, because you’re the epitome of maturity, right, Harrington?” Eddie pinches his waist, “I take it black. The most basic way to have it some might even say,”

“I regret ever getting to know you. You’re an absolute menace,” Steve rolls his eyes at the way Eddie cackles. The hold on Steve’s waist is relinquished so that Eddie can walk over to get a mug of his own coffee. Apparently, he’s rooted around Steve’s dresser again, because he’s rocking a white polo shirt that he would never normally be caught wearing. He’s wearing the same darkwash jeans as yesterday, which Steve takes a moment to appreciate while the guy’s facing away from him. Who can blame him? He could get used to seeing Eddie in his clothes.

The hashbrowns pop loudly, reminding Steve that they’re even there in the first place, so he shuts the stove off and grabs two plates. Eddie sits next to Steve at the counter just like he did last night. Steve’s trying not to think about it too much.

I don’t know if Father ever told you why I wasn’t allowed to come over anymore? I never questioned it when he told me at first, because that’s not how things worked back then. It took a while to find out that it was because I’d kissed a boy. I was too young to realize what was going on between you two, so I didn’t even think about it. So yeah. Sorry for that–

Eddie takes it upon himself to pick out Steve’s outfit for the day, citing the dangers of heatstroke when Steve goes for his sweater drawer automatically for the second day in a row. The morning is lazy in an incredibly satisfying way. He’s been a little light headed since waking up, but it’s manageable for the most part. There’s one time while they’re walking down the stairs that Eddie has to grab his elbow to keep him from toppling over, but it only happens once. The stairs are the only part of his house with carpet, which he’s incredibly thankful for after all his years of traversing the house concussed. Adding a slippery laminate staircase to the equation would’ve been a death sentence after all these ends of the world.

The pair sets up in Steve’s father’s office. It’s probably the room he frequents least. It doesn’t have good memories or anything in it that he regularly needs to use, so there's no need for him to come here. There’s a phone sitting on the end table by the scratchy tweed couch, but there’s also one on the wall in the kitchen that he could use instead. Honestly, he couldn’t even tell off the top of his head if this one’s still been plugged in. Eddie decides to give it a go and calls up Wayne while Steve starts opening up drawers in his father’s desk looking for stationary.

Anyways, things are different now. I don’t talk to mom and dad very much, because they’re usually out of town still, but I have a family here in Hawkins now. You remember the Byers? I think you and Joyce probably went to high school together maybe even with Karen Wheeler? It’s me, the Wheeler kids, the Byers, Hopper (the cop, yeah), and some others you probably wouldn’t know. Not sure if you ever met the Munsons or Sinclairs. I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I’d love to introduce you to them all someday. Especially Robin and Eddie. They’re my people. I think you’d like them–

It feels alien to sit in his father’s high-backed office chair.  Something about it makes him feel dirty, but it helps that Eddie’s behind him chatting away and twirling the phone cord between his fingers like he does with his hair sometimes. There are no windows in the office, just one large painting of a mountain range overlooking a lake staged on the wall above the desk. A layer of dust sits on every inch of the room, much thicker than in any other room in the house.

“Wayne says hi,” Eddie says, probably covering the receiver to address Steve even though it’s unnecessary.

“Hi, Mr. Munson,” Steve throws over his shoulder.

“He says to get the stick out of your ass and start calling him Wayne,” Eddie relays, tossing himself nearly over the armrest of the couch with the force of his laughter.

“Will do, Mr. Munson, I’ll get right on that,” Steve grins, hands still moving across the paper in front of him. It’s hard to write at the same time as speaking. There are a few moments where he has to cross out a whole sentence and restart because his wires have gotten crossed and he’s started transcribing Eddie’s conversation instead. Really shows off that glowing C-  in Mr. Peterson’s English class.

I think you’d especially like Robin. I know it’s not cool to tell people personal things like this, but I think she’d understand. She’d love to get to know you since she’s like you and Susan. If you know what I mean. I wonder if you’d be surprised to hear that I’m a little like you and Susan too. Not all the way, but yeah. I don’t know. I haven’t said it out loud a lot 'sides that one time with Rob in her kitchen. I think you’d get it. 

Steve barely registers the click of the phone being placed back on the hook. It’s hard not to notice Eddie, though, and the way he leisurely stretches and stands to peruse the bookshelves. The office is a built in unit with one large wooden desk custom fit to the room. The rest of the other walls– save for the one with the picture, are covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves. When Steve was younger and his father still had hobbies outside of the firm, those shelves even sometimes had actual board games, models, and novels. What remains are two neat rows of dusty books, tops of pages yellows with age, and spines barely broken enough to be considered loved.

The rest of the shelves are populated with knick-knacks and decorations, artfully placed to look like an interior design magazine– his mother’s personal hobby. The knick-knacks are small things like a mug and a trophy from the driving range his father used to go with friends– different than the one he’d take clients to. There’s a kitschy statue that he’d picked up at an airport during a layover between Winnipeg and Detroit sitting next to a dusty globe. Steve used to spend hours standing just barely inside the doorway of the office, studying the shelves, looking for signs of life, but even the souvenirs and gift shop trophies seem fake after this much disuse.

Eddie plops himself down in front of the books, propping his chin on his hand. Individually, he pulls each book out to read the back, then replaces it on the shelf. It gives Steve pause to watch these dust covered things get covered in impressions of Eddie’s hands and fingers. He doesn’t brush the dust off, just takes them, reads the back, and replaces them. If Steve had Nancy’s brain he’d think about metaphors, but he only has Steve’s brain and Steve’s brain is thinking about holding those hands in his own and kissing those rings and those knuckles and those–

Eddie and Robin do music! They’re both in bands, but different kinds. Rob’s in the school band. She plays trumpet. Sometimes when her parents get sick of hearing her play the same three bars over and over she practices in my living room. She says the two of us are soulmates, but it’s in a friend way. ‘Platonic with a Capital P’ hahah! (That’s what she calls it). Eddie’s band is one with his friends. They do metal. Real hardcore stuff. I haven’t seen them perform yet because Hawkins is a bit of a disaster right now, but I’ve watched them practice once with Dustin (he’s another family member (non-blood-related little brother)) in Gareth’s (Eddie’s bandmate) garage. They’re loud. Susan would love it–

It feels nice to be quiet with Eddie, but eventually, they have to rise and head out to the car. Steve isn’t done with his letter. Still, he takes it out of his dad’s office to leave it on the kitchen counter. He doesn’t like the idea of his letter to Auntie Anna being in a space that is so… his father’s .

Eddie swears he’s fine driving, even though Steve feels so guilty about not being able to. He’s been the babysitter and the driver for so long that it’s extremely hard to give up the reins. For a moment, Steve can’t think of anything besides the feeling of sitting in Eddie’s lap last night, which just makes him feel worse because that was obviously a bad time for Eddie. It had been the right thing to do in the moment, but now all Steve wants is a repeat of the experience– not the crying part, though, he doesn’t like it when Eddie’s upset. This is a sentiment that is shared throughout the entire party, except for Argyle, who didn’t get the memo apparently and finds nothing but joy in riling Eddie up. It's all in good fun.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Eddie asks eventually, breaking the comfortable silence they’ve continued since the house. Steve hums for a moment, deliberating the pros and cons of his answer. Eddie plays guitar chords on the inside of Steve’s knee where he's resting his hand.

“I think I’m fine with this one. Do you have anything else to do today? S–”

“If you apologize for ‘making’ me drive you around again, Harrington, I will turn this car around.” Eddie cuts him off with a goofy grin.

“Yes, sir,” Steve copies his joking tone, grinning over at Eddie just in time to watch his eyes widen slightly.

“Oh, my,” Eddie says like the words have slipped past his lips without his permission. Steve laughs at his expression.

“Anyway, yeah I should be fine inside. Would you be able to pick me up some stamps while I'm there?”

“Sure, baby,” Eddie’s eyes flit over to him for a moment before focusing back on the road. Steve scoffs at the nickname, ignoring the way it makes butterflies kick up in his stomach. He leans forward to rest his elbows on the centre console, looking up at Eddie through his eyelashes.

“Thanks, honey,” He says in his best impression of Joyce’s sweet, home-y voice. The reaction is immediate, and it makes Steve grin selfishly. Eddie makes a choked-off noise, as his face turns immediately red. The fun part, though, lies in the way his hand on the inside of Steve’s knee tightens. Interesting. He almost falls face first into Eddie’s lap with the abrupt way he parks the car in front of Dr. LaValle’s office.

“Steve, I–” Eddie starts, only to be cut off by the door of the office swinging open. Dr. LaValle stands partway in the doorway cupping her hands around the end of a cigarette as she goes to light it. They stare at each other for a second before she puts the unlit cigarette and lighter into the pocket of her cardigan. Steve waves at her as he pushes open the door to climb out.

“Steven! Fantastic timing, I was just coming out for a small break, but I can squeeze you in beforehand. Come inside,” She says, no-nonsense as ever. Steve turns to ask Eddie what he was going to say, but Eddie just gives him a quiet smile and a gentle shove to get him out of the car. “Usually, lenses like yours would take a lot longer to make, but we just so happened to have a cancellation with a prescription similar enough to yours that I was simply able to build it right on to finish these for you in a shorter timeframe,” The older woman laughs slightly under her breath and repeats, “time frame ,”

Picking up glasses, Steve assumes, is regularly a short affair. All Steve has to do is try on the frames to make sure they fit properly, allow the doctor to make a few small adjustments, and then he’s home free. The process is made a bit longer, however, by the unexpected rush of emotion Steve feels upon placing the frames on his nose. Sure, he knows obviously that the glasses were going to help him see clearer. He knew that there would be some change, but he hadn’t fully comprehended just how bad his sight had gotten over the years until the glass was in front of his eyes.

As soon as Dr. LaValle slides the frames onto his face, Steve’s eyes water up and he has to shove the frames out of the way to scrub his eyes. Dr. LaValle is giving him a sympathetic look and holy shit he can see her individual hairs. This is a little overwhelming. She allows him a moment to flick the glasses on and off his face. His brain seems to have stalled out on a neverending trade of ‘ floor, hair, face, JEANS!, fabric, grains in the wood, carpet fibres’ as he looks and looks again at everything around him. After a moment he has to force himself to stop and sit still because his world is tilting like he’s just gotten off a rollercoaster.

I’ve had a rough few years recently– fights and stuff. I don’t know if you’ve kept up with the news out here, but yeah. I’m doing pretty okay now especially with my family to help. Mrs. Byers actually just got me in with an eye doctor because she noticed that I was apparently having a bit of trouble. How wild is that? I didn’t even realize my vision was blurry, but I guess a dozen concussions might knock something loose eventually. I’m exaggerating, by the way, I haven’t had that many concussions don’t worry. But yeah, Eddie’s been helping me a lot there getting to and from appointments even though I keep insisting that he doesn’t have to–

Finally, he can sit still long enough to allow Dr. LaValle a moment to check his glasses for necessary adjustments. He should probably (definitely) be listening to what she’s saying, but his brain is completely filled with static as he looks at her studious face. Holy Fuck. Maybe he should’ve brought Eddie in after all because this is stuff he should be listening to but he can’t look away from the crow's feet wrinkles at the corner of this lady’s eyes and the mole on her forehead and–

“...Steven, I believe I will write up a small note for you to have before you leave. I understand that this is an overwhelming experience, but some of this is important for you to understand as a first-time glasses-wearer.” She chides as she heats the armband on one side to bend it slightly. He stares at the frames in her hands wanting to put them back on so badly that it feels like he’s missing his whole brain. He can’t believe he’s just been fucking walking around like this missing so much of the world.

“A note might be good,” He finally concedes, tearing his eyes away from her hands with a sheepish smile. “I might not remember it all anyways given the, y’know, potential brain stuff,” He taps his temple with one finger.

“The main thing you must take away from what I’ve said, Steven, is that this is quite the strong prescription to start your eyes out on. As I mentioned yesterday, you will experience eye strain headaches at the beginning of your wear while your eyes adjust.”

“Yeah, I remember that bit.”

“Good. It may also be best to avoid wearing them in moving vehicles, at least for the first day or so. The eye strain in conjunction with the movement has been known to make people feel quite motion sick. Try to ease yourself into this. It’s a big change and your body will need time to reconcile it.”

Maybe it’s a little out of left field, but I feel like I can talk to you about this. So I said earlier up there in the letter that I’m a bit like you and Susan? Well uh. Geez, I wish we were in person to say this so that I could just… I don’t know. There’s this boy. I’ve already talked about him in this letter. A lot. I’ll probably talk about him more too because he’s been taking up all available air time in my head recently and I don’t know what to do about it. It’s not quite why I’ve decided to write to you out of the blue, but I feel like you’d get it in a way. It’s kind of scary isn’t it? I want to do something about it but I just–

This is what Steve does, even though he doesn’t want to do anything but sit himself down on the curb outside and just stare at everything around him with his brand-new glasses. Instead, he takes Dr. LaValle’s note and his handy little glasses case outside to the car. Just like yesterday, Eddie is sitting on the back of the Beemer, but this time there are no kids. Eddie takes his cigarette out of his mouth when he sees him, making a disjointed movement to stub out the cigarette.

“Edward Munson, don’t you dare put your fucking dart out on my car!” Steve yells out, rushing the few steps to Eddie just to snatch the cigarette and crush it under his foot. Eddie has wide eyes and a huge grin on his face.

“Holy fuck, I wasn’t going to! I swear I wasn’t going to do that!”

“I saw you thinking about it, Munson,” Steve says with a glare. He has to look up just a couple centimetres to maintain eye contact with Eddie, which makes him realize for the first time that he doesn’t usually. Eddie isn’t that much shorter than him but Steve’s got at least an inch on him. The change in perspective feels a little refreshing.

“My name isn’t even Edward?” Eddie's face contorts with the effort to hold in his laughter.

“The hell is Eddie short for then?”

“First of all, rude. I’m not that much shorter than you,”

“You have to know that’s not what I meant, idiot,” 

“I’m just fucking with you Harrington,” Eddie laughs, “Name’s Edmund. Nice to meet you finally, Steven. ”

“Man, shut the fuck up, the only people allowed to call me that are aged squarely in the 50-95-year-old bracket.”

“I’ll make sure Wayne knows that,” Eddie nods, finally sliding off Steve’s car, body pressed close to his for the briefest moment as he slinks over to the driver’s side door.

“If you do, they’ll never find your body,” Steve threatens without heat.

“You’d do a murder for me, Stevie?” Eddie gasps theatrically. He flings open the door.

“I think the implication there was less for you and more to you,” Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Eh, I could be into that,” Eddie climbs into the car, cackling to the sound of a very disgruntled Steve knocking his head against the roof of the car.

“You are insufferable,” Steve intones, finally joining Eddie inside the car.

“And you love it,” Eddie sings, turning the key in the ignition.

“Unfortunately,” Steve crosses his arms over his chest, pretending to be mad. Eddie makes a small sound, but by the time he looks over at the other man, Eddie’s started rambling.

“How was the appointment? Did Doc LaValle treat you well? Why aren’t wearing your specs? Did they not work or something?” Eddie is staring steadfastly ahead as he shoots questions at Steve rapid fire.

“Whoa, man, calm down. One question at a time! Did you just get possessed by Dustin or something,” He hasn’t heard from the kid in a while, actually, he should probably give him a shout later to check up on him, “No everything went well. Better than that actually. I want to be wearing those things so fucking bad right now, but Dr. LaValle said they’d make me motion sick in the car. I’ve got some other instructions too that I couldn’t, um, pay attention long enough to get directly from her.”

“That’s good! We can go over the important things later if that would help?” Eddie glances over at him with a smile so warm it makes Steve’s insides melt into goo. “You’ve gotta show me how they are on when we get back to yours. The new and improved King Steve– Ruler of the nerds.”

“I think that’s you, actually,” Steve laughs into his hand. Which sucks because that means Eddie’s not holding his hand . A crime. Steve bridges the gap to yank Eddie’s hand toward him– maybe not the smartest move seeing as it makes Eddie nearly swerve onto the sidewalk out of shock.

I know he’d be cool with it. He knows about Robin and he was cool about her so I don’t know why it would be different. Sorry, this letter wasn’t meant to be all about me and my feelings hahah. Do you have any news about your art? A lot must have changed since I last saw you. Ten years! Wow. I’m going to put a picture in here of me so hopefully you won’t be picturing a nine year old still. I’ve graduated high school and now I work at the video rental place out here with Robin. It’s pretty okay. I mean, it’s no Harvard Law as Harrington Sr. would have hoped but it keeps me close to home–

Sitting in his car, one hand holding his glasses case and the other holding this stupid boy’s hand, Steve finds himself almost vibrating with excitement. The world is still blurry outside the windows, and honestly, he can’t believe he’s been driving the kids around like this. Those few moments in the doctor’s office have put a lot of moments in the past few years into perspective. Holy fuck, the metaphorical fire under his ass has him pushing Eddie’s hand away to rifle through the centre console for his notebook. In big letters to make sure it’s clear, Steve writes ‘Book Dr. Appt in Indy!!!’

“Doctor’s appointment in Indy?” Eddie asks, reading the new note out of the corner of his eye, “That’s what the doc mentioned yesterday, right? What’s all that about?”

“Head stuff,”

“Clears up nothing, but okay,” Eddie places his hand on Steve’s thigh now that his hands are busy with the notebook. “So how long have you had that?”

“Had what?”

“Y’know,” Eddie prompts, “The D&Diary?”

“Nex time you call it that, I’m strapping you down and forcing you to listen to Phil Collins,” Steve threatens, leaning slightly into Eddie’s face with his teeth bared in a grin.

“You can’t do that to me, baby, I’m a weak man! The exposure would kill me dead!”

“Good,” A small part of Steve wants to shuffle over to rest his head on Eddie shoulder– a stupid idea given that the other man is driving still.

“So?”

“I started keeping it just before the kids started grade ten,” Steve answers finally. He clutches the notebook to his chest subconsciously and slides down in his seat. The sliding down might be a mistake because it means Eddie’s hand slides up his leg slightly. The feeling makes Steve want to start screaming a little bit. “They had their last, uh, what’s it called– session? With Will, before he left, and I didn’t want to– I don’t know. It was important to them, so I just… started keeping it. It’s not just D&D in here so don’t get too big a head about it.”

“Yeah, I seem to remember Baby Wheeler reading something about my… candy preferences?” Eddie’s thumb is rubbing small lines against the inside of Steve’s thigh. The car feels way too hot all of a sudden, which Steve knows means he’s flushed a vibrant red right about now. This should be illegal, Steve wants to jump this boy’s bones so bad that he feels like he can’t breathe.

“Yeah, well, it’s my important things notebook, okay? So the Dragons and Dungeoneer shit is there, but I’ve also got Dustin’s medical information near the front, and, like, Lucas is allergic to pollen, right? So I have that in there– or everyone’s allergies are in there, but they’re all over the place. It’s not organized it’s just– it’s all just in one place. Easy access,” If Steve wasn’t pinned in place by Eddie’s hand on his leg he thinks he would just about be sliding off his seat to crawl into a ball on the floor of his car. Listen, Steve knows he doesn’t have to be embarrassed about it– it’s practically his full-time job to care for these people, but the vulnerability still makes his skin crawl. He squeaks out a small, “Just in case,”

The car bumps lightly over the slope of a curve leading into Steve’s driveway. There’s a prolonged silence as Eddie shuts the car off. He takes his hand off of Steve’s thigh (which doesn’t make Steve whine at the loss of it, but it’s a very near thing). Slowly, his hand comes up to brush a piece of hair back from Steve’s face, leaving tingles along his jaw with the movement. 

“I think it’s sweet of you to care about people so strongly. That’s all,” Eddie’s face is open and vulnerable in a way that’s indescribable. “It’s neat that someone like Lil ol’ me gets to be in there alongside everyone else,”

“Of course, you’re in here, Munson,” Steve scoffs. “Book wouldn’t be complete without you. I feel like you do retroactively owe me, though, for the way I had to haggle with Wayne to get even a fraction of your medical history. I think he thought I was planning to kill you,” And that makes Eddie’s eyes crinkle in a laugh. There’s a fond smile creeping across Steve’s face and he can’t find it in himself to stop it.

“C’mon, you big softie, let's get you inside,” Eddie is smiling in that blinding way he does as he leads Steve to his front door. With the door open, Eddie tugs Steve inside, grip strong enough to make Steve lose his footing with a sudden headrush. Suddenly, Eddie’s laughing again, but he’s got his arms around his torso to keep him upright.

“You’re gonna have to tell me about that doctor’s appointment at some point, I think, sweetheart. I know I’m good-looking, but that's the third time today you’ve nearly gone head over heels for me.

“Okay, now that was the lamest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Steve says while privately thinking Oh, you have no idea.

I would love to sit down to catch up if you’re up to it. I own father’s BMW now so I can drive out to meet you if you’d rather not come in here. My parents wouldn’t be an issue, because they’ve been out of town for a while now. I still live at the house though and it’s the same one I grew up in. I guess you know that, though, ‘cause it’ll be on the envelope? If I meet you out there I might have to bring Eddie. He’s become my designated driver because of all the head stuff. We could get coffee at that place we used to have lunch if it hasn’t changed. How does that sound? Please write back. Or call! Or you can do both. I’d just love to hear from you again.

Love, Steve. Xx

It doesn’t take much pushing or prodding for Steve to finally give in and pop his glasses back onto his face. He’s been itching to wear them ever since he walked out of the office. Taking a moment to get his bearings– it’s surprisingly disorienting to watch the clear vision get closer to his eyes when he puts them on. For the first few seconds, he stands, blinking in awe at various parts of his house. The walls have a texture that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen or at least made a note of before. He almost walks over to touch the wall just to confirm what he sees when Eddie clears his throat.

“I got stamps by the way,” Eddie’s voice makes him snap his head over toward him. And– Oh, holy fuck. The other man’s skin is so… Steve can see the pores on his face, which he’s pretty sure would not be polite to point out, but amazes him into speechlessness. Telling Eddie about the conditioner this morning was definitely a smart idea. His waves are more defined than usual, fluffing up into random curls and ringlets. He has a light, barely-present dusting of stubble that Steve’s never noticed before because it grows in blond . 

Before he knows exactly what he’s doing, Steve has stepped forward, nearly pressing Eddie into his front door. His hands come up to frame the man’s face as his eyes flit over every inch of it, drinking the man in. His lips have little indents on them from where his teeth had just been biting down. There are two small freckles on one of his temples that Steve’s never even noticed before. What makes Steve feel like ice is dripping down his back are Eddie’s eyes , because holy shit.

His eyelashes are light like his facial hair, but they’re darkened at the tips with, what Steve can only assume is, slept in mascara. His eyes are dark, rich, and such a warm shade of brown that it makes Steve’s worldview tilt to the side. He can see the lines in his eyes and his pupils are separate, but nearly the same colour. In one eye, there’s a small patch that is lighter than the rest as though he’s got freckles there too.

And, okay listen– Steve has impulse control like he has patience. He does! He has enough self-control to not lose his cool at the kids 9 out of 10 times they do stupid shit around him. He’s disciplined himself for years to keep himself from giving in to all of his stupid impulsive thoughts like smacking a plate off the side of the counter just to break something. It’s been too many years taking care of himself not to have built up some semblance of self-control. 

But everyone has their breaking point. And Steve– Steve can't control his mouth anymore.

“You’re so pretty,” Steve breathes, so transfixed on Eddie’s eyes that he doesn’t even think about the way his face is centimetres from Eddie’s. He’s intoxicating , “Shit, Eddie, Robin was holding out on me. She didn’t tell me that you were so sweet, ”

“Steve,” Eddie says his name like it’s a secret. Staring at him, pressed close enough that he has to look up more than usual.

“ Pretty ,” Steve says again, basking in the way Eddie’s eyes flutter shut. He can’t look away. There’s a flush starting up on Eddie’s cheekbones and Steve gets to watch it happen up close and personal. “You’re beautiful–,”

And it’s all it takes, really. It starts with feather light kisses pressed into everywhere Steve can reach on Eddie's face: one for those freckles on his temple, for the tip of his nose, for his eyebrow, his eyelid, his jaw, his– And then before he knows it, he's kissing this beautiful boy. One hand leaves Eddie's jaw to move him carefully backwards enough to press him into the door. His hand tilts Eddie's jaw up, drinking up the high-pitched noise that's veritably dragged from Eddie's vocal cords. It's like the noise breaks something inside Eddie, or it must, because all of a sudden Eddie comes alive.

His hands are in Steve's hair, teasing at his waist, and flipping them around so that it's Steve's who's boxed in, being kissed senseless. Steve pants into Eddie's mouth, groaning at the way Eddie holds his jaw open with one hand to lick inside his mouth. He's being kissed within an inch of his life and he still has to keep reminding himself to stop being weird and close his eyes even though he wants to see what every single movement Eddie makes looks like.

They eventually draw apart just enough to press their foreheads together. The wide grin on Steve's face refuses to be suppressed no matter how hard he tries– and he is because he can't kiss Eddie properly like this. Eddie's hot breath is making his glasses fog up, which is both endearing (because everything Eddie does is endearing), and annoying (see previous. But also fogged-up lenses means that Eddie's face is obscured). 

"Wow," Eddie says gracefully. Just hearing his voice makes Steve press another kiss onto his face, which is more of a press of teeth against the skin because he can't stop fucking smiling which should be embarrassing, but it's not because it's Eddie. "Where'd that come from, sweetheart?" 

His hands are still buried in Steve's hair, so Steve knocks his head back against the door just to feel them press into his skull. He feels drunk. The good news is that the slight distance between them clears his glasses, which have been knocked slightly askew on his face, and he can see Eddie again. He runs a hand through Eddie's bangs, marvelling at the way he can see the slight frizz not just feel it.

"How could I not? Do that?" Steve asks. His voice is kind of unrecognizable in his ears. "Have you seen yourself, man?"

" Man!? " Eddie squawks, "You cannot call me man when I've just had my tongue down your throat." Holy shit, his eyes look so beautiful when he laughs. 

"What would you prefer, Steve, asks teasingly. He draws Eddie upward by the jaw, willing himself to stop blinking so that he can keep staring, "Eddie? Eds?" He punctuates the names with kisses on either cheek. "Honey?" Eddie growls into his mouth with another searing kiss. And Steve is laughing into Eddie's mouth, pulling him impossibly closer like he aims to, he doesn't even know, crawl inside the other boy. 

This moment will be seared forever in Steve's mind, but he can't even think about that right now because all he knows is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie-

Chapter Text

What eventually breaks the pair apart is the sound of Steve's phone ringing. The boys jump apart at first but are very quickly distracted by each other again. Only when the voicemail picks up, blaring his mother's pre-recorded voice does Steve groan and thunk his head back against the door. At the sound of the beep, the voice of none other than Wayne Munson echoes from the kitchen phone.

"Good Afternoon,  Harrington House, just calling to see where my kid is. It's been a few days since I've seen 'im and I'd thank you to return him at your earliest convenience," Wayne drones sarcastically, "Unless, of course, he's too busy reenacting Spring of '85, in which case, be safe, boys and remember to use–"

And all of a sudden, Eddie is off like a shot, sprinting to the kitchen to yank the phone out of its nest. As Eddie whispers his half of a harried conversation, Steve rests his burning face in his hands. He has a lot to think about. He just kissed Eddie. More importantly, Eddie kissed him back! He feels a little starstruck in the way that makes him nearly start dancing on the spot like a teenager in a romcom. His fingers find the spot just under his jaw that Eddie'd had time to mark up before the phone rang. He won't be able to cover it up for his shift today, so he'll just have to bear the brunt of Robin's questions.

Wait.

Steve slides around the corner on his socks, nearly launching himself into the wall in the process. Eddie, clearly startled by Steve's sudden appearance, is in the process of hanging up the phone. The sound of the dial tone hangs softly in the air between them as they stare at each other.

"Whatever you heard, it wasn't–" 

"Dude, I completely forgot–" they speak at the same time. Steve gestures for Eddie to go first.

" Please don't make me tell you about Wayne walking in on me and Nick from drama club." Eddie almost whines, phone forgotten in his hands. Steve's eyebrows hike up into his hairline.

"If I'm being totally honest, I had no idea what I thought you were going to say, but it wasn't that. Although, we're definitely putting a pin in that for later. Nick? Nicholas Schafer, really? That's your type?"

"It was a one-and-done thing! We were the only two pansies in our grade, man, there's not much to say about types when you live in fuckin' Sleepy Hollow here." Eddie rolls his eyes, bringing a chunk of hair up to his mouth.

"Well, now you've got me too."

"A regular Ichabod Crane," Eddie drawls, voice slipping almost imperceptibly into an impression of his uncle– all long vowels and chewed consonants.

“Is that a compliment?” Steve asks genuinely. He definitely has heard the terms before, but whether it’s a book or movie or whatever, Steve’s never seen this ‘Sleepy Hollow’.

“Sure thing, baby,” Eddie leans over to pat him on the cheek in a rather condescending way.

“So an insult then?”

“Whatever you say, baby.”

Eddie trails him around the house as Steve gets ready for work in a way that reminds Steve of a dog trying to help out with non-dog-friendly tasks. Steve brushes his hair and Eddie stands behind him smiling and metaphorically wagging his tails– Steve packs two bags of snacks for him and Robin (who he already knows forgot to bring a lunch) while Eddie sits on the counter kicking his feet. It’s, frankly, adorable, and the routine has to be disrupted a few times by soft kisses before the two are actually ready to leave.

This bubble they’ve made for themselves indoors has been everything Steve’s ever dreamt of. A shift comes over both of them, however, as soon as they’re standing on his front porch locking the front door. Mr. Jones is standing on his lawn next door with a hose in one hand. He gives a good-natured wave to the boys, looking extremely neighbourly if not for the way his eyes are transfixed on Steve and Eddie’s joined hands. It hurts a little when Eddie drops his like he’s been burned. Snatching up the keys from the now-locked door, Eddie avoids Steve’s eyes all the way to the BMW, only reaching for him again once they’re behind closed doors.

“...What was that?” Steve asks, running his fingers over Eddie’s hand in an attempt at soothing the other man.

“Your neighbour was there,”

“So? That’s never stopped us from holding hands or anything before?” As much as most people would try to say otherwise, Steve’s not an idiot. He knows how hard it is for people like Robin or Eddie or, hell, himself, but he just– It wigs something at the back of his brain that 24 hours ago, Eddie was basically cuddling him at the till of the very public grocery store, but now they can’t hold hands because his neighbour is out watering the plants? The neighbour’s dog barks once, sharply, and Eddie flinches. He starts the car and turns on the radio.

It feels like it has never been a possibility for Steve to ignore Eddie. On the best of days, Senior year comes to him in snapshots. There is before Bill Hargrove and there is after Billy Hargrove. He remembers the first day of school, driving himself alone in his car because Karen Wheeler was making Ted ‘step up to the plate’ and drive the kids for once. The beginning of October found him more often than not sitting at the quarry drinking coffee to stave off the grogginess leftover from nightmares. Sometimes these nights replaced coffee with whatever was at the front of his parent’s liquor cabinet as he sat alone revelling in the burn in his throat. He’s puked his guts up over those rocks more than he’d care to admit.

The days go on in October and he watches the colours of the trees change on his short drives between the Wheeler house, the school, and the quarry. His neighbour called his parents midway through the month to complain about the leaves on the lawn, and Steve only know about the call because the secretary had gotten in touch about hiring a lawn service. He’d hung up immediately to do the job himself. Strangers weren’t a welcome presence in the Harrington home. The neighbours, he’s sure, secretly loved the abrupt stop to all of the parties. Gone were the days of raucous teenagers tripping on perfectly manicured lawns and throwing up into sculpted bushes.

And then Tina’s Halloween Party and all the bullshit that came with it. And then the resurgence of something Steve had just finally been able to trap in his nightmares and pretend hadn’t been the reality. And then Billy Hargrove threatened the life of one of his kids. If he were anyone else, Steve thinks he would have clung to his perfect unfractured memories prior to the number Hargrove did on his skull but holding onto those meant holding onto–

He tries not to think about Tina’s party, his parent’s coming home at the end of September to a dark dusty house, or the many times he left Barbara Holland’s parent’s home just to collapse on his bathroom floor with his head in a toilet waiting for the guilt and nausea to subside. He does hold onto Dustin, though, which coincides with collecting all the other kids. Meeting Dustin is one of the weird crystal clear memories from Before that Steve allows himself to think about and cherish.

After the day Billy Hargrove nearly caved his fucking skull in on Jonathan Byers’ living room floor, however, things have gotten a lot fuzzier. Sure his vision changed, and his left ear always has a high-pitched sort of hum that he’s taught himself to ignore for the most part, but something clicked in his brain that day as well. Eddie hadn’t been wrong when he’d mentioned Steve and his long line of head injuries– it came with the playing field when someone did as many sports as Steve did, but ‘The Billy Concussion’ had been different.

Nothing had ever knocked him so flat that he’d lost consciousness and spent the next few days in the ER (He’d argued that point up and down with Hopper and Joyce when they’d found him with the kids back at the house. She said she’d trust him to make his own smart and safe decisions once he could say more than two words without slurring them). The change from before to after is worryingly clear-cut. Steve’s chosen not to think too hard on it (until now).

The rest of senior year is blurry. He knows he passed his classes because he’s got the degree to prove it. There are small memories like photographs of Dustin sitting with him in the library, tabletop covered in books and papers. Sometimes he conjures up images of girl’s nights with Eleven and Max when El had finally allowed visitors. The memories aren’t animate, in a way, they’re just present.

All this to say, Steve remembers seeing Eddie for the first time and then the second and so on. He remembers full-bodied laughter in the face of some asshole from some sports team. He remembers the glowing orange at the end of a joint watching him from the other end of the quarry. He remembers in a haze, the summer of ‘85 approaching him looking for ‘the strongest pain killers he has’– Though that night remains broken as well with the black eye and ghost of restraints around his hands and feet– Russian soldiers spitting in his face– Robin’s head pressed heavily against the back of his own–

Eddie is hard not to notice, and he doesn’t try to be subtle about his presence either. Steve sits back in his seat, new glasses perched on his nose, and observes. He takes in the way Eddie’s knuckles are bleached white with his grip on the steering wheel. He notices the tightness in the man’s jaw and the way his throat clicks when he swallows. He’s doing the poorest attempt at pretending to be okay possible as he hums the wrong words to whatever has been put on the radio– too tense to even pay attention to what it is. It’s what Steve’s learned he’s good at– the noticing.

“Eddie, what’s wrong,” Steve finally asks, voice quiet in the same way it was last night. Did I–”

“You didn’t do anything,” Eddie says firmly, with his eyes still fixed on the road. They’re nearly at Family Video, and no matter how excited he is to see Robin, he’s just as nervous to get out of this car. The way Eddie is presenting himself is, in all honesty, freaking Steve out. He doesn’t know what’s changed in the past hour, but Eddie won’t look at him or talk to him. He didn’t misjudge, right? Eddie had kissed him back. Things had been good when they were still at the house, but now…

“Can you talk to me then?” Steve asks, allowing a whisper of irritation to sneak into his tone. The world passes by outside Eddie’s window at a dizzying speed that makes Steve’s mouth water a little with nausea. He drags his gaze away from the driver’s seat.

“Do you have a ride to pick you up from work later?” Eddie asks instead, and his tone makes Steve pause. A minute quiver starts up in his hands where they sit clasped in his lap.

“Um,” He feels thrown by the question, “Well, no, seeing as this is my car and you’re driving it?”

“Right, uh, I can leave it for you at work then. My place isn’t that long a walk from Family Video,”

“Whoa whoa, what? Eddie, what’s happening? Can you please just tell me what’s going on in your head? I don’t know– I can’t read between the lines here, man.”

“No lines to read between. I’m just giving you your car back. I don’t know what Wayne needs me for, but if I can’t pick you up you’ll need to get back somehow. You’re off at ten tonight, right?”

“Ten thirty,” Steve hears himself say. His words come to him in an echo, muffled by the blood running through his ears. His shoulders and neck are tense, but no matter how he rolls the muscles they won’t relax. He thinks back to when Eddie told him he’d never have to guess how he was feeling and then he thinks of the times, like now, when it feels like they’re having entirely different conversations. He doesn’t know how to explain it though, besides asking him to rephrase it. He feels so stupid because the sentences aren’t complicated, he just doesn’t understand, “Sure, that’s cool. I’ll, uh, drive myself.”

Eddie nods as they pull up to Family Video. “Sounds good. Let me know if there’s a change of plans,”

“I can do that. Will I get to see you again soon, though?” Which feels like the wrong thing to say even as he’s saying it. It’s clingy. Eddie’s spent the last three days and two nights at Steve’s house– he deserves to interact with other people as well. As cranky as the old man is, Wayne Munson should probably be allowed some quality time with his nephew as well. “Nevermind. Thanks for the ride, Munson, I’ll see you when I see you, kay?” The smile on his face feels like it’s been glued on, which feels uncomfortable especially when Eddie finally meets his eyes. He looks troubled and small, but Steve doesn’t know what to do about that. The corners of Eddie’s mouth flit up in a facsimile of a smile before it disappears again just as abruptly.

“Can we talk later? Maybe after your shift?” Eddie asks. Which is even more confusing, because why is he walking home then if Steve’s just going to end up at the trailer anyways?

“Sure? Are you positive you don’t want to take the car, then, because it–”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll see you later.” He cuts him off, shoving his hands in the pockets of his– Steve’s– jeans, and turning tail to walk away. Only when Steve is holding the handle to the side entrance of Family Video does he realize that Eddie never gave him his keys. This day has been extremely confusing. 

The back door doesn’t have a bell which is why Steve and Robin prefer entering and exiting from it. Nothing like working a job where that bell is constantly ringing to get someone to be filled with primal rage every time the sound happens. At this rate, they’ll be seeing red once the mall Santa's show up this winter. Steve pushes his glasses up into his hair as he pulls his vest on and gets ready to punch in.

Kevin, one of the sparse other Family Video staff members, is lounging on the couch in the corner watching something on the tiny television there. He’s probably getting off just as Steve’s coming in, but he doesn’t have a doubt in his mind he’ll be hearing all about Kevin slacking off from Robin for the first half of their shift. He doesn’t work with the kid that often, but he knows that he does everything in his power to schedule his washroom breaks around the rushes. Robin has Biology with him and hated his guts even before he got hired.

Kevin waves absently at him with one hand, eyes still glued to whatever’s on screen. His fingertips are covered in powder from the candy he’s probably stolen from the till.

“Hey, man, watcha watching?” Steve starts conversationally, watching the second hand tick by on his watch.

“Dude, I don’t even know. I had a J on my last break and I can barely even walk straight,” Ah.

“Do you… need a ride anywhere before I clock in?” Because the kid’s annoying, but he’s still a kid. He's only in eleventh grade with the greasy hair to match. 

"Nah, man, I walked here. My buddy's gonna come get me," Kevin says with half-lidded eyes, which is actually a good thing because Steve’s vehicle is obviously unusable without his keys , thank you, Munson.

"Your buddy isn't also stoned, right?"

"Probably not. I dunno I've been here since 9," The teen draws his gaze away from the TV to look at his watch, "Oh, I'm off."

"Yup," and Steve's shift started three minutes ago, "Drive safe, or whatever," He punches his card and puts it back in the slot. Robin is on him the instant the breakroom door cracks open bin is on him the second the door cracks open, whispering furtively and glancing over his shoulder to see if Kevin’s dragged himself out the door yet. 

“Thank Christ you showed up when you did, Steve, because that was the longest Kevin-shift I’ve had in the history of ever. Did you know he took three breaks just to smoke weed behind the building today?” She rants, comically whispering the word ‘weed’ when the family of three in the comedy aisle looks their way. She tugs him by the wrist to the desk so that she can lean fully against his side. As soon as she’s settled, Steve slides her hair tie off her wrist and brings his hands up to fix her with a small ponytail at the base of her neck. Her hair’s been growing back out, and it’s like she’s lost all ability to tame it.

“How long have you been working here with this rat’s nest on your head?”

“Shut up,” She whines, “You can’t be mean to me right now! I’ve been babysitting a 16-year-old science prodigy while he rides out the worst trip of his little baby-stoner life. I had to set him up with a pack of razzles and that broken Goonies tape that kid brought back last week. The one that’s silent and has static covering most of the thing?”

“I don’t think he even noticed anything was wrong with it,” Steve laughs, finishing up her ponytail. He taps a loose rhythm along her head with his now free hands. “Didn’t think Keith was paying us to trip sit,”

“I don’t even know how to trip sit!” Robin whirls around, face freezing as soon as her eyes land on Steve’s face. “Steve?”

“Robin?” He can’t stop grinning.

“You’re wearing glasses?” Her brow furrows as her head tips slightly to the side. Steve’s cheeks hurt with his grin and he grabs her by the shoulders in a hug.

“Robin, you have freckles?” He asks, voice giddy as he looks over his friend for the first time properly because holy shit this is his best friend. This is his soulmate and his best friend and he didn’t know she had freckles. They’re lightly coloured in clusters across her face, getting darker and more sparse the further down her neck they go. She’s even got little speckles on her lips. Her eyebrows are overgrown at the ends, which he’d never noticed before. They lose their shape at the tails– something she’d hate him for pointing out probably. He kisses her on the forehead, making her laugh at the exaggerated smack his lips make.

“Since when have you been blind, Dingus?” She laughs, playfully pushing at his chest and arms till he releases her.

“A few years turns out,”

“ Years!? ” She cries out, hushing herself once again as the customers whip around to stare at her, “What do you mean years? ”

“Well, uh, the stuff kept happening, and it turns out I can only be knocked around the head so many times before…” He gestures at the frames on his face. Without asking, she slips the frames off his face to put on her own.

“Whoa, are you seriously telling me I’ve been letting you drive me around like this?” She gets a minutely panicked look on her face, “Could you even read the road signs?”

“Um, in hindsight, yeah, might not have been the, uh, best idea? For me to be driving around?” He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment while Robin blinks owlishly behind his lenses. With the removal of his frames, the world has faded back into fuzzy blurs of colour. The tension in his neck rackets up slightly, moving up to his jaw. He pats the blonde blob that is Robin on the head, holding out his other hand for his glasses. Instead of handing them over, she slides them gently back onto Steve’s face, “Good thing I’ve got these now at least.”

“Better late than never! But now I know, so don’t think you can get away with not wearing those, dingus, you’re blind as a freaking mole.” They laugh together for a while longer, Robin teasing him affectionately and Steve ribbing back. And it’s fascinating, now, to see her– to watch this wonderful person. He can catch all of her expressions and her microexpressions and her micro micro expressions, which make Steve homesick with want for missing them all this time. She has this way she talks with her eyes, widening them, narrowing them, wiggling her eyebrows around. Steve loves her so much.

The rest of their shift is spent catching snatches of conversation around their afternoon rush. Rob doesn’t like touch as much as Steve does, but, in her words, he’s the exception. She wiggles out of any hug that comes her way but leans back into Steve’s hand when he places it between her shoulderblades to pass behind her at the till. They switch off positions, alternating between working till and wandering the store checking on patrons. Honestly, Keith should give them a raise with how they rock this gig.

All too soon, Robin is leaving for the night. Her mid shift ends at 8, which leaves Steve to occupy himself through the end of the night rush and close up the store alone. It usually dies down in spurts, but he wishes it was a double close night just so that he could spend more time with Robin. Before she leaves, she gives him a kiss on the cheek and a threatening glance.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you get dropped off here by Eddie,” She says under her breath conspiratorially. Coming out to her was a mistake . Telling her about his crush was a mistake. “If it gets dead tonight you know who to call,” She sings with a wink as she flounces to the back through the breakroom door.

And then he’s alone. The radio is playing softly overhead– Kevin’s station of choice since he started earliest. The lights in the store seem brighter than they did at the start of his shift. He clicks his jaw, wiggling it around to try to ease some of the tension that he’s been ignoring as the day’s gone on. The usual evening rush is smaller than usual– likely because most of their target audience is studying for finals– so he finishes his closing duties in record time. The floor is sparkling, the movies have been restocked, and Steve still has an hour before the end of his shift. He rubs his left eye beneath his glasses.

For a while he digs through the bottom drawer of the counter, pulling out some of the magazines that are stashed in there. They’re hidden under a collection of restock stationary so that Kieth doesn’t realize they’re there, but he’s pretty sure he knows anyway. He pulls out a well-worn copy of Analog that the weekend opener probably put in here. It's the only one he hasn't read back to front seventy times. He’s never cared much for sci-fi except for the way it relates to his kids, but he quickly finds himself drawn right in. 

As it turns out, reading while wearing the proper prescription is leagues easier than without! Steve marvels at the way he can make out words without having to bring the magazine up to his face. The letters and words still move around from sentence to sentence, making the already jargon-filled fiction almost impossible to read, but he blitzes through a quarter of the thing nonetheless. 

Half an hour before he’s allowed to lock the doors, Steve thinks that if he hears the same Howard Jones song come over the radio, he’s going to bash his skull against the corner of the counter. The same Howard Jones song quickly turns into hearing any song so he shuts the radio off with a bit more force than necessary. A bout of feedback squeals over the intercom as Steve switches it off and Steve feels the sound like a lance through the head. Oh. Oh fuck. Looking up from the magazine, he squints around the starbursts and fuzzy squiggles taking shape around the store. Eye strain migraine. Right.

His fingertips have gone numb when he reaches for the desk phone, eyes hurting as they try to make sense of the world around them even while that very world mutates with the oncoming migraine. To make it more familiar, Steve slips his glasses off, folding them carefully onto the countertop. He groans, tugging at his hair. It does feel slightly better to take the lenses off– his brain relishing in the fuzziness and his eyes thankful they don’t have to strain to fix it. Through sense memory, Steve keys in Robin’s phone number, holding the phone away from his ear enough that it doesn’t hurt but that he can still hear it ring.

“Buckley Residence,” Robin’s dad answers the phone, formal but jovial as per usual.

“Hi, Mr. Buckley!” Steve uses the last of his customer service voice to chirp down the line, wincing at the way he sounds, “Is Robin there? She left something of hers at work today, and I was wondering if she wanted to come to pick it up before I close.”

“Ah, Steve, yes I’ll get her right away,” Sometimes it pays to make your friends’ parents think that you’re dating. He likes the Buckleys.

“I see you’re taking me up on my offer,” Robin says slyly down the line once she picks up.

“Okay, so I do need to tell you about that,” Steve whispers, “Especially with my next question, but that’s not actually why I’m calling.”

“Oh no, you’re whispering,” Robin immediately catches on, because of course she does. They share a brain. “Open the drawer on your right, I think Anthony left a thing of Tylenol in the pen drawer last night. Came to work hungover as if it wasn’t 1 pm on a Tuesday– Sorry, uh, did you find it?”

“Found a bottle, but there’s nothing in it.”

“ F– Fudge. Okay, okay, okay. I can have my dad take me over and you can spend the night here, but your car’s gonna have to stay there overnight.”

“That’s the problem,” Steve sighs, massaging his temple with one hand. “Eddie took my keys. He forgot to give them back when he dropped me off today.”

“Oh no,”

“Oh yeah. I don’t– I can’t see the, um, numbers on the phone well enough to phone him, though,” Steve half-lies. Sure, the numbers are swimming nauseatingly in front of his eyes, but he could probably dial Eddie’s number backwards with his eyes closed. “Can you get him? Actually, can you come with him?”

“You want me and Eddie to walk to Family Video to come get you instead of getting picked up in a normal car?”

“Well, Eddie has his van, but– Rob,” He bites off a whine that makes his mouth fill with saliva. Even though he’s alone in the store, he lowers his voice further, “Robbie, I kissed him this morning ,” 

Blessing of all blessings, Robin Buckley remembers to remove herself from the phone receiver before she squeals. He brings his own phone back to knock himself solidly on the forehead, simultaneously revelling in the brief burst of pain and kicking himself for making his head feel worse. The tingles in his fingertips have travelled up his arm, so he switches the phone in his hands.

“So tell me again why you need me there? To third wheel this migraine recovery or…?” Robin is obviously grinning from ear to ear.

“I don’t know! It was so good this morning and then when we left the house, my neighbour saw us holding hands and he froze me out the whole rest of the way to the store,” Steve says in a rush, clutching the phone cord like a lifeline. His vision pulses in his left eye painfully. The tunnel-vision effect forces him to slide down in a crouch behind the counter. “Robbie, I’m worried that I did something wrong with him. I really want this to work out, and I don’t have th– I don’t– I can’t– My head hurts too much right now?”

“Leave it to me, dingus, We’ll be there before you have to lock up with all the essentials. Has Eddie helped you with one of these before or am I the master here?”

“You just want to hear me call you a master at something,” Steve teases her with his eyes squinted shut.

“You know me too well,” She goes to hang up before remembering, “Love you!”

“Love you too,” He breathes, leaving the phone to dangle beside him in lieu of braving being vertical again. With nothing left to focus on, Steve lets himself dissolve a little bit. The store is empty, he’s got time before his friends get here, he can’t breathe.

Closing his eyes hurts, opening his eyes hurts, and the way his breath is screaming in his lungs makes his brain feel like it’s being carved diagonally across the top. A large blindspot has appeared in his left eye. It’s the side some random Russian soldier nearly burst his fucking eyeball with his fist last year. He’s learned not to fight against the migraines, so as the phantom sensation of glass imbedding itself in his scalp starts up, Steve lets himself drift.

It takes far too much focus to even out his breathing, but once he has, he feels himself slip away. He really hopes no one walks into the store, because he doesn’t think he could stand up even if he tried with the way the world is stuck at a slant. His eyes are staring blankly straight ahead, or he thinks they are. The piercing light of Family Video’s LEDs are behind the counter, so Steve focuses on the wooden side of the filing cabinet they keep behind the counter. In for 4, hold for 4, out for 4. The blindspot in his left eye swallows the rest of that eye’s vision. In for 4, hold for 4, out for 4.

The pressure he’s been ignoring all day has built in his head. Isn’t it just the icing on the cake that he can’t even unlock his car to get any medication or nab his sunglasses from the glove compartment? He blinks, for all he knows, with one eye. It feels like his brain is exploding and melting at intervals, pounding in his temples and behind his eyes in time with his heartbeat. He’s had migraines for years, now, but every single one still feels like a death sentence.

He’s pretty sure his head lolls back to rest against the counter, one eye stubbornly staring straight ahead still. A meat cleaver has embedded itself in his skull, maybe. Or, like, a cattle prod is being shoved deep into his temple. He blinks. In for 4, hold for 4, out for–

The bell above the door jingles so loud he thinks he passes out for a second, eye (eyes?) rolling back in his head while nausea dances through his whole body. Oh, fuck he’s gonna puke–

A lined trash can is shoved in front of him just in time for him to lose his lunch. The floaty feeling is still there because Steve’s worried that without this weird gauzy dream-like film, he’ll die. The zoning out is, Steve swears, the only thing keeping the pain at bay enough for him to realize that it’s Robin who’s crouched in front of him holding the garbage can for him. She opens her mouth to speak, and thinks better of it when Steve brings his hand up to tap the shell of his ear. The buzzing in his left has travelled to his right and, combined with the floaty feeling, it all sounds like he’s underwater.

Robin brings her hands up in front of her and quirks a brow. Right, they’ve been practicing together. Sign language, right, he can do that. He furrows his brow at her hands and nods. Maybe focusing on something else will help. As it turns out, it doesn’t and, in fact, focusing on something real and present makes the floaty feeling leave. Pain crashes through his skull so quickly that he’s surprised he’s not gushing blood and brain matter all over the sparkling linoleum floor.

‘Here E-D-D-I-E,’ She signs, fingers stumbling very slightly over the alphabet. Steve tilts himself to look behind Robin but doesn’t see anyone. Robbin shakes her head, wiggling her fingertips like she’s recharging them. ‘E-D-D-I-E,’ She tries again and then points in the direction of the front door. Oh, he’s on the other side of the counter.

“Meds?” Steve whispers. His voice is quiet, but it still makes him flinch to hear it rumble through his vocal cords. Robin points at him and then the bottle in her hand before tilting her head to the side in a question. “I–” He starts, but is cut off by a high keening sound as a new wave of pain stabs right behind his eyes. 

When he comes to moments later, he’s panting his breath out in bursts and staring blankly up at the ceiling. Robin has squeezed herself in beside him to scratch her nails over his scalp, gently breaking up knots and tangles. It’s been one day, but Steve still misses seeing her in high definition. He reaches up to hold her hand. 

“My meds,” He finally responds, “But they’re in my– Th– with notebook?” The sound of the bell jingling above the door again has him leveraging his head up in an attempt to smack it back against the cabinets. Instead of the jarring feeling of wood, however, the back of his head is met with Robin’s palm.

“Hey, none of that, Eve,” Her voice is purposefully quiet. She kisses him on the shoulder, and Steve falls in love with her a little bit all over again. “Number?”

“It's– Right now, I think--" Steve starts only to be cut off by the fucking bell again . He smacks his head back into Robin's hand again. He hisses wildly, "Please, please, please . Rob, I think I'm dying . I'm g– 'M gonna murder the bell."

"Evie, you aren't dying. Eddie, stop fucking with the door," She hisses. "Is this a nine, Eve?" Robin coos into the fabric of his t-shirt where she's rested her head. The pressure feels nice. He nods.

"Meds," he asks again, voice weak, "C'n turn off th' sign. Lock door."

"Eddie'll do that," Robin responds quietly. The man in question comes around the edge of the counter like he's trying not to spook a cornered animal. There's an orange pill bottle in his hands, which Steve grins and grabs at.

"Rob, 'ddie's here. He… meds," Speaking makes his brain hurt. He can tell he's not coming across clearly, but it's all he can do to stick to keywords.

"Yeah, I'm here, baby," Eddie's quiet voice feels good in his ears. "How many of these does he take?"

"For a nine? Give him two. I left the water on the counter, can you grab it?" 

Eddie shakes two pills out into the cap handing them to Robin with the bottle of water. It's Robin's water bottle, probably half empty and lukewarm. He takes the pills himself but needs her help to lift up the water bottle for a drink.

"Sorry," He mumbles. Eddie cocks his head to the side and Robin hums against his shoulder, "Medication. Can't drive." He can feel Robin glaring at Eddie like he's doing it himself. He brings a hand up to gently pat Rob's cheek and shush her.

"Oh, sweetheart, no– I–" Eddie looks heartbroken, which is bad . But looking at Eddie hurts because he's crouched in front of the neon sign. Steve screws his eyes shut with a whimper, "I wasn't thinking. We can… I'll tell you about it when you're not hurting, okay?"

Steve hums in response, but the buzzing in his head only allows him to properly comprehend half of what Eddie's said. The lights fracture behind his eyes, spamming and pulsing pain in his temples.

"I have to leave," He says quietly. 

"Your house, Eve?"

"Come too?"

"Always, dingus," Eddie and Robin help him stand up, which is especially helpful when his knees don't want to cooperate while standing up. They walk him like a baby deer toward the door and out into the blessed dark of the parking lot. "Eddie's van okay? We can get your car tomorrow?" He wants to crawl inside Robin's skin or have her crack open his ribcage to live inside or something.

"Trust," He mumbles, head flopping down onto her shoulder uncomfortably. It jostled him enough for her to lose her grip, making Eddie lunge forward to pull him entirely into the circle of his arms. "Can go wherever. Didn't cash out, Robbie,"

"It's okay, Anthony opens tomorrow, and he doesn't know how to count the coins properly. You're doing us a favour." The pair giggle, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. Steve has to strain slightly against Eddie's arms to stay in Robin's orbit. He's coherent enough to realize that he sounds drugged, but not enough to do anything about it. Distantly, he can feel the first nigglings of his horse pills, as Dustin calls them, kicking in. Eddie piles the friends into the backseat where Steve immediately pulls Robin on top of him in a bear hug that makes them both giggle again. Every sound the car makes at Eddie rolls it over makes Steve wince. Every pothole they hit has Steve tugging Robin impossibly closer and whining into her hair.

"Sorry," He whispers. She shivers at the breath in her ear.

"No. Not allowed," She pulls back enough to look him in the eyes. " No apologies. Eddie, did you grab his glasses?"

"Yup, I've got 'em up here, Buckley. Does he want them?"

"You can talk to him. He can hear you," Robin says, hands scratching circles against Steve's scalp.

"Don' be rude, Rob," Steve slurs. His vision coalesces in shades of purple and teal, morphing with every streetlight they drive under.

"I'm just saying!" Robin says, voice sharper than before. 

"Do you want your glasses, princess?" Steve can barely focus enough to hear the waver in the other man’s voice.

"Princess. 'S a new one!" He's grinning with his eyes shut tight against the pain, "Deep breath, Eddie, I'm okay. No need to worry. No glasses, please. Hurts."

The drive passes in a blur of pain in his head and pressure from Robin laying basically on top of him. They're holding each other close enough to merge into one person when Steve finally, blissfully, passes out.

He wakes up in bed, sandwiched between two people who are having a very hushed argument over his head. His bedroom is dark. Both of his hands are intertwined with someone else's, resting against the chill of his sheets. The vision hasn't returned to his left eye, but the ringing in his ears has mellowed out to its regular annoying volume. All told, the pain has decreased to about six or seven, which means he’s not getting up any time soon, but that he can actually hear what’s going on around him properly.

“Listen, dude , I like you, okay?” He hears Robin say as he stares up at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom. “I do, and being part of the party or whatever means I’ll go to bat for any one of you. Even Mike Wheeler or the other annoying kids. But! Steve is my person, and I’m not going to let you take advantage of him or whatever, so I say again– Get your head out of your ass, Munson.”

He’s heard her get protective sometimes in the same way he’s stood up for her, but each time it makes him squirm. There was the time a few months prior when they’d finally gotten the Family Video job that Steve had all but threatened the life of one of the other workers there. She’d tried to ignore it, but he’d been making comments at her every time they worked together. The first and only time all three of them had been scheduled at the same time, the creep had tried to make a grab at Robin’s chest. Steve nearly broke the guy’s hand with the stapler and he quit with no notice the next day.

Steve’s always been the impulsive one, though. Robin is the stubborn one. She digs her heels in and makes the other person regret their decisions where he’s always acted first and asked questions later. The rare times that he’d been made uncomfortable by someone hitting on him at work, she’d been quick to step in with a hard look in her eyes and a few comments ranging from passive-aggressive to aggressive-aggressive. 

“Listen, Buckley–” Eddie’s voice sounded pained when he talked, “I know how it sounds, but it’s not like… I’m not trying to be like that , but he’s different than you and me, you know?”

“What, because he likes both? Is that your fucking issue here?” She snipes.

“No! God, no, I’m messing this up. I mean– You and I have known about all of… this for a lot longer. I don’t want to get him into trouble because it’s, well, because it’s me. It’s one thing that I’m a guy, but it’s also– I don’t know. I almost got jumped at the gas station last week, and the only thing that stopped them was that the attendant intervened. People don’t… It’s not safe,” Robin sighs and brings a hand up to run through Steve’s hair.

“Does Steve know this? Have you mentioned any of this to him? We aren’t the kind of people who pick up on cues like that. I mean, I know I’m not, but Steve’s got this whole wonky brain thing going on after the Russians. I’m just asking you to talk to each other? Don’t hurt my friend, or I’ll hurt you.” She glances down, making a small face when she realizes that his eyes are open. “And he understands a lot more than you’re giving him credit for. He’s been, like, not out, or whatever, but aware for a decent enough amount of time. The guy watches more news than anyone I’ve ever met, and I know my dad. You need to give him some credit.”

“The news?” Eddie laughs quietly.

“Not much else on TV at four in the morning,” Steve croaks out, finally alerting the other to his presence. He smirks slightly at the way Eddie jumps. It’s harder to see him than it is to see Rob since he’s sitting on Steve’s left. “I’m a very worldly man. Very in tune with current affairs.”

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Robin teases, “You’ve been out for about two hours. How’s the think tank feeling,”

“Better than before,” He smiles at her, “Still can’t see out of my left, but it’s easier to talk.”

“You can’t see out of one eye? ” Eddie asks, shocked, “Are we positive this isn’t a hospital trip?”

“Wow, he’s r eally never dealt with one of these bad boys has he,” Robin stage whispers.

“Nope,” He grins back. To Eddie, he says, “It’s been a while since I’ve had one, to be fair, like a few months, but this is pretty normal. The blindspot stuff only happens with bad ones. Guess this is what Dr. LaValle was telling me about.”

“You said you might be dying back at the Family Video,” Eddie points out, raising a worrying eyebrow.

“Well, it kind of feels like that when your brain is on fire like that,” Steve and Robin laugh a little, “It’s probably related to the head stuff,”

“Yeah, the head stuff you mentioned needing to make an appointment for? That head stuff?”

“Wait, you’ve got doctor shit coming up and you didn’t even tell me,” Robin all but pouts. She’s so nosy about his medical history that it isn’t even funny. She says medicine’s a ‘special interest’ of hers, which Steve kind of gets seeing as her dad basically runs Hawkins Memorial.

“I saw you for, like four hours today, Robbie,” He rolls his eyes up at her, wincing at the stab of pain that comes with the movement. “And yes that head stuff. All the concussions maybe fucked up my brain a little more than it already is, so I’ve gotta get it checked out. Is it too early for me to take more meds?”

“You know the answer to that, dingus, but I can get you some water. Is this one that caffeine would help?” Robin slowly disentangles herself from Steve. He immediately misses her warmth.

“Maybe later if it’s still bad. I feel like it’s too late for coffee,” Steve hums. Robin climbs off the bed, making a comment about getting him something to eat on her way out the door. For a moment, Eddie and Steve sit in silence. “Eddie, please talk to me?” Steve finally starts, shifting himself so that he can properly see the other boy. Eddie breathes in raggedly.

“I’m sorry,” 

“Why?” Steve blinks up at him.

“I told you I’d be upfront with you, but I haven’t been holding up my end of the bargain.” Eddie closes his eyes and breathes out a steadying breath. “I freaked out this morning and turned nothing into something. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’d done something wrong or that I regretted, um, this morning.”

“Okay,” Steve says quietly.

“Your neighbour was there and I just– I ran. I don’t know. You’re just so you , and I’m me, and you’re so far out of my league it’s kind of insane? The flirting and whatever before was never a joke, but I didn’t think you’d seriously– I dunno. I’ve got a lot of shit going on, right now especially, and I don’t want to drag you into it.”

“Too bad you can’t make that decision for me,” Steve says, voice steely, “And knock it off with that ‘I’m not good enough’ thing. That was harsh, but, man, come on. If it hasn’t already been established, I’m kind of head over heels for you. I care about you a lot, and, sure, I’ve never seriously dated a guy before, but I know what I like and I know that that’s you. You mean a lot to me. I want to take care of you too, you don’t always have to be dropping everything for me. You’re worth taking care of, honey,” Steve scratches upward to cup Eddie’s burning hot face between his hands. “Let me take care of you too, okay?”

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” Eddie says, his words more of a breath than speech. “Jesus, okay, yeah, Steve, anything you want.” Steve nods affirmatively like it was the answer he knew he was going to get all along, and hell, maybe he did. 

“Good,” Steve tugs him down against the mattress, “Now get down here. I’ll reign Robbie in when she gets back. I promise that she won’t bite your head off unless she has cause, so just don’t give her any. I’d do the same for her.”

“Noted,” Eddie pressed a kiss onto his cheek. It warmed Steve’s heart to feel him smile like that when he still couldn’t properly see him what with the lack of sight and the fact that he had no idea where his glasses were. Like speaking of the devil, Robin twirled into the room like a waitress at a fancy restaurant, playing up her movements to get a laugh out of the boys. She handed out plates of buttered toast and cups of water like it was a four-course meal before settling back in behind Steve. He’d worry about the gross crumbs they were probably getting in his sheets when his headache had gone down. He nuzzled back into Robin with a happy sigh.

“You aren’t getting away with how you called my best friend princess, by the way. I’m not letting that one die, Eddie,” Robin said after a moment of comfortable silence, a teasing smile evident in her voice. Watching Eddie’s face burn red forced a bubble of laughter out of Steve’s chest.

“What, you’re allowed to call him girly names, but I’m not,” Eddie says indignantly, only barely remembering to keep his voice soft.

“Well, duh, she’s Rob and I’m Evie,” Steve says like it’s obvious while Robin giggles out, ‘girly names?’, “It’s like they did in Some Like it Hot , ‘cept Rob’s a girl,”

“Does that make me Marilyn Monroe or Joe Brown?” Eddie cups his face with a soft smile. Robin laughs and smacks Eddie on the shoulder.

“I think you’re pretty enough to be Marilyn.” Steve flirts back, “Sweet as Sugar Kane some might even say,”

“Oh that was a bad one, Evie,” Robin cackles, clamping her hands over Steve’s ears so the sound won’t hurt him. He grins. Despite the headache still booming dully in his temples, he finds that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than stuck between these two idiots who he loves with his whole heart.

Chapter Text

Soft glowing light and the smell of coffee greet Steve as he walks down the stairs at four in the morning. He's had a decent amount of shut-eye– more than he'd expect given the eight hours he'd gotten the night previous. Eddie is still sleeping in his bed. He didn't even wake up when Steve shuffled him over to tuck him more fully under the covers. Robin's side of the bed is empty.

They've spent so much time around each other's homes that they could maneuver around them blindfolded, but Robin still somehow has no idea where Steve keeps his pans. He walks in to find her grumbling to herself, obviously hungry, with half the cabinet doors flung open. He taps the doorframe and along the wall as he enters the room behind her. It's the best system they've found to keep each other from jumping anytime they're approached from behind. They'll tap along walls, snap their fingers, or click their tongues like some weird form of echolocation. They know it looks weird, but it's saved them from many a heart attack over the past couple of years. Robin does a peace sign in his direction over her shoulder, head still buried in one of the lower cupboards by the fridge. 

"They're in the drawer under the stove," 

"I hate you. Why can't you put your pans in a cupboard like a normal person? The handles are going to melt, and then you'll be breathing in plastic particles every time you turn on the oven,"

"And yet, I haven't moved them and they're still perfectly fine," Steve tosses over his shoulder as he rummages through the fridge to take out ingredients for breakfast. She sticks her tongue out at him as she closes all of the open cabinets. "What are we making?" 

"I was still deciding between omelettes and french toast. Would that be too many eggs if we make both?" Robin asks, tapping her chin. She reaches around Steve to pull the coffee creamer off of the shelf.

"Maybe. Eddie likes french toast,"

"Eddie's not awake yet," Robin pokes him in the arm. "How's your head?"

Steve hums. There hasn't been time for a grocery run recently, so the pickings are sparse. He finds some tomatoes, half a questionable onion, and some cheese, placing them on the counter by the pan. The remnants of his migraine have faded to a dull ache behind his eyes, which he's fairly certain comes from the fact that he's put his glasses back on. It will take a while to get used to them. He's sure he won't be stuck with the weird fishbowl effect forever.

"It's about a 3. I'll probably have some Tylenol after we eat," he pats her lightly on the back. At some point, she'd gotten changed into some of Steve's clothes. He didn't see her get in pyjamas, but he's sure there's an extra pair sitting discarded in his laundry basket. His closet is starting to become a lending ground. Robin hums back at him, flexing and unflexing her fingers. "Why were you up so early?"

"Bad dream," She shrugs, leaning back against Steve's chest. "Can you get the eggs 'n milk?"

"Sure. Wanna talk about it?" He says. Falling into an unspoken routine, Steve starts chopping up the tomatoes and onion and shredding the cheese while Robin whisks together the eggs and milk. She doesn't like being around sharp objects after bad dreams.

"Not really. It was just the usual. Argyle died in this one, though?" She sounds confused as she speaks, almost laughing. "He was stuck in the Upside Down instead of Eddie. Weird. I dunno, I saw him yesterday morning before the adrenaline rush from last night, so maybe my brain just combined everything."

"Maybe. Do you want to phone over and check on him?"

"Nah, that's your thing. It freaked me out, but I know it was a dream. Besides, it's four in the morning. I don't wanna be responsible for waking up Mrs. Byers," She shrugs, and Steve can't help himself from moving over slightly to bump their shoulders.

"Okay, just checking,"

"I know," She laughs down at the pan. Omelette making is like a science in the Buckley household, and Robin is a master of her craft. Every time Steve's in charge of the pan he ends up making surprise scrambled eggs, but Robin's are always restaurant worthy. She gestures for him to sprinkle in his part of the breakfast, fiddling with the heat and a spatula like it's her job.

Eventually, the pair slide to the ground facing each other backs against the cupboard doors and legs interlocked. His mother's pristine white crockery is cradled in their lap, mugs of hot coffee sitting on the kitchen floor. Steve's socks are too big on her feet, bunching up at the ankles and loose at the toes. They look kind of ridiculous, her wearing his clothes and him in pyjama pants and an old t-shirt. It looks like she's showered and had time to dry her hair before he'd even come downstairs.

"What's the plan for today?" He asks, swallowing a bite of his omelette. It was definitely a good thing they used the onion. "We're sharing the closing shift tonight, right?"

Robin swallows before responding, "Yup, but I've got lunch with my grandparents before work. Hence the–" she gestures her fork down at the brown dress pants and white button-up she's sporting, "Gotta look nice, or whatever,"

"I think you've got a pair of dress shoes in the basement if you want those instead of your converse," He takes a swig of coffee, "What's the occasion?"

"We're the planning committee for my cousin's baby shower," Robin says. Steve parks up.

"Linda's having her baby? Did they find out what she's having?"

"Oh yeah! She's having a girl!" Robin does a little twirl with her hands, flapping them at the wrists. For all her talk, she's exceptionally excited to have another girl in the family. Steve and Robin have already offered up their help whenever Linda pops– or Steve had offered his help, rather, and Robin had agreed too to get Steve to stop elbowing her in the ribs. Steve knocks their ankles together, grinning through a mouthful of breakfast. "Enough about the Buckley brigade, though. Eve–" She turns to him with a  glimmer in her eyes.

"Rob," Steve whined, already posed to bury his slowly heating face in his hands.

"What's all this princess nonsense from the man upstairs?" She grins wickedly and stabs the air in her direction with her fork. "Tell me everything. Spare no details, four eyes."

" Four eyes!? " Steve sputtered.

"Yeah, y'know, because of the–" She gestures to his face.

"Yeah, I know because of the glasses. You're a nuisance, Buckley." Steve brings his empty plate up behind his head to place on the counter behind him. "First of all, you never told me Eddie was that pretty,"

"You can not be pinning this on me. For one, I didn't know you couldn't see! And also I don't like guys!"

"You don't have to like guys to have eyeballs in your head, Rob! He’s just so pretty ,”

“Oh yeah?” Rob hides her smile behind her mug of coffee in a distinctly Joyce-Byers-like way.

“Yeah. His hair is so long and soft and his eyes . Rob, I looked at his eyes once and couldn’t even hold myself back anymore. It’s like the glasses are a flip for my impulse control or something”

“What so you put your glasses on, saw those big Bambi eyes for yourself and…? She waves at him to continue.

“Oh my god, they really are Bambi eyes. I like brown eyes so much,”

“I’ll try not to take that to heart,” Robin deadpans, eyes flicking briefly up to the staircase.

“Of course. But…uh, yeah. So I may have just–”

“He called me pretty and pushed me up against the door to have his way with me. Is that what you’re asking to hear, Buckley?” Eddie’s voice comes from the bottom of the stairs, startling Steve enough to spill coffee onto his PJ pants. The air is filled with the sound of Robin cackling while Steve grumbles, wiping futilely at his pants with a dish towel. Eddie jumps over the counter to sit behind Steve, knees on either side of Steve’s head. “Do you guys regularly wake up at the ass crack of dawn to talk about how pretty I am, or is this a special occasion,”

“Oh trust me, he’d make it a regular thing if he could,” Robin laughs, kicking him playfully in the shin. “Want breakfast? We were planning to make yours separately so it wouldn’t be cold by the time you got up.”

“Depends what’s on the menu,” 

“I can do french toast?” Steve offers, giving up on the coffee stain. He’ll soak it later and see if he can get it out with vinegar and baking soda. Or something.

“Oh, you spoil me, sweetheart,” Eddie leans down slightly to ruffle Steve’s hair affectionately, only succeeding in making the other man squawk indignantly.

“Only the best for you,” Steve rolls his eyes. He remembers a time when this room of the house was the most infrequently used. His family would always sequester themselves away into their separate corners of the house, often going out for food or separately grabbing things from the fridge in intervals. It had been arduous teaching himself how to cook once they’d stopped coming back to get him, but they’d always stocked the fridge full of grab-and-go items. Neither of the Harringtons Sr. liked to cook. “Do you need a ride to lunch?”

“Nah, I’m good Evie. I think I’ll wear the converse and just walk. Lunch is just over at Maggy’s”

“Oh, super close then,”

“Yup!” Robin chirps. 

Robin washes and Eddie dries while Steve makes Eddie’s breakfast. He can’t help revelling in how domestic it is to have both of his people by his side like this. He loves it even when Eddie nearly breaks both of the plates Robin passes him and even when Robin decides to start a splash fight against both of them. It’s soft, warm, and feels like home. There’s half an attempt when Robin’s walking out the door, to get her to return his clothes later, but she points out that he’s already got half her wardrobe anyways so it shouldn’t matter. 

Eddie is on him the moment the door closes, running his hands lightly up and down Steve’s arms and burying his face in his neck. It takes a moment for Steve to be able to spin around in his arms to face Eddie, their chests pressed together. He tilts the other boy’s face up to meet his, heart melting at the sight.

“Hi,” Steve says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“Hey, yourself,” Eddie mumbles against Steve’s mouth. “How’s the head, baby?”

“No complaints yet,” Steve grins, pulling back just enough to wink.

“Ooh, I see how it is,” Eddie drags his hands down to Steve’s waist, pulling him closer. One hand comes up to tilt Steve’s head upward to rest against the wall, giving better access to his neck. He keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling above them while Eddie starts trailing kisses down the column of his neck. Small gasps make their way out of Steve's throat as he cards his fingers through Eddie's hair. With a small nip to Steve's collarbone, Eddie pulls back. Steve finds himself whining embarrassingly, his hands tightening slightly around Eddie's hair. "Jesus, Steve" Eddie breathes, eyes glinting brightly. 

"You're annoying," Steve tries to knock his head back into the wall only to be met with the palm of Eddie's hand. It's so reminiscent of Robin last night that it throws him for a small loop. Eddie tuts at him, scratching gently at the back of his scalp. The feeling makes Steve close his eyes and sigh. 

"But you like it," Eddie sings with a press of lips against Steve's jaw.

"Unfortunately, yes," Steve murmurs, bravely pretending that Steve wouldn't jump however high Eddie wanted him to. He feels Eddie's lips split into a grin against his jawbone. Tightening his grip in Eddie's hair slightly, he pulls the other man's head off of him just enough the give him a small peck on the lips, "Come on, let's go get ready. I need to get that brain appointment booked today,"

The week that follows has Steve constantly on the go. He spends most of his time split between Eddie and Family Video, but there are still small pockets of time spent with the kids and specifically El and Will. She's taken a break from portal closing for the past few days after a power-unrelated fainting spell. She'd spent a few days staying in Steve's guest bedroom while Hopper and Joyce were at work, alternating between reading comics the other boys had left at Steve's, and watching TV. They'd made a thing of it, painting each other's nails (with Eddie's help), and renting cheesy movies to binge. She was the first of the kids to see his new glasses and delights in stealing them off of his face to wear them herself.

"I want glasses too," she says matter-of-factly one day in the middle of their second go at Stand By Me . It makes Steve laugh even while he snatches them back so that he can actually see the movie. She retaliates by tossing a handful of chips at him, levitating them back into the bag moments before they touch the floor.

By the end of the week, the whole party has found out about his glasses. It's a little embarrassing to be getting so much attention, but Joyce is pleased, at least. Dustin nearly vibrates out of his skin in excitement when he finds out the next time he walks into Family Video.

"Steve!" He nearly shouts, startling Robin enough that she punches a box of licorice off the counter. "Did you get glasses!?"

Steve makes a very sarcastic show of taking the glasses off and staring at them in shock. He swivels his head between Dustin and Robin gesturing at the glasses before schooling his face again in a look that says no way, Captain Obvious.

"Turns out, dingus here can't even read the speed limit without frames," Robin rats him out, making him turn to glare at her betrayal.

"Really!?" Dustin really needs to learn to keep his voice down, because the few other customers in the store keep whipping around to stare, "You need to do something to celebrate." The definitiveness in Dustin's voice makes Steve nearly burst out laughing. 

"Oh yeah? What do you have in mind, dude?" Steve humours him. It's been too long since he's hung out with the kid, and he's pretty sure he'd do anything Dustin asked just to spend time with him.

"Let me check the forecast and get back to you," Dustin says, gears obviously already spinning in his head, immediately running out of the store to hop on his bike. Steve can’t help but burst out laughing in disbelief. The kid had been inside the store for a grand total of five minutes before beetling off to do whatever. Robin shrugs at him from the Romance section, equally as confused.

The explanation comes in the form of Steve’s doorbell ringing that night at 10 o clock in the evening. The late spring sun has been setting later and later, but the night has finally chilled to black. Forgoing a weapon in favour of looking through the peephole, Steve is greeted by the sight of Dustin bouncing on his heels with his arms full. In one hand he’s holding the telescope he’d won as a prize for first place in the science fair– in the other hand he’s holding… a book? Mrs. Henderson’s car is idling out front, waiting to confirm that her son has gotten in safe before she’ll pull away.

Steve opens the door sure that his confusion is written all over his face. As soon as the door opens, Claudia Henderson waves to Steve and peels her little wooden car away from the house. Without even so much as a greeting, Dustin plows into Steve’s house, smacking the spiral-bound book into Steve’s sternum as he walks by. The kid handles his telescope like it’s a baby and all but cries out in pain when he accidentally clips one of the legs on the single chipped tile in Steve’s foyer. He doesn’t bother taking his dirty sneakers off, immediately making a beeline for the back door.

“Are you coming?” Dustin calls out, sliding open the patio door. Steve blinks owlishly at him from behind his glasses and then turns his gaze down to the book in his hands. Its cover displays the silhouette of a man looking through a telescope backlit by the stars. 

“What’s Nightwatch ?” Steve asks padding after Dustin. Before he steps outside, he snaps a couple of blankets from the living room.

“Take a wild guess,” Dustin rolls his eyes like the smartass he is, “It’s a book about space.”

“Okay…?” Steve draws out the word, tilting his head in confusion.

“Well, I just figured that you’re new to the whole seeing thing–”

“I wouldn’t say–”

“So you probably haven’t, like… When’s the last time you looked at the stars?” Dustin busies himself setting up his telescope at the edge of the forest surrounding the Harrington property. He points the thing at the sky over Steve’s house. The backyard has always felt slightly stifling. Even before everything happened with Barb and the Upside Down, he hadn’t loved being back here without another person. Sure, he was raised in this house just like the others in the Harrington lineage probably dating back to the creation of the town, but that didn’t make him any more comfortable with the way the trees bordered so close to him.

When he was still small his mom would always have to talk him down enough to sleep. Where most kid’s thought about monsters under the bed, Steve looked out his bedroom window and thought about monsters in the trees. She’d stopped comforting him at a certain point, or he’d stopped going to her for comfort– he can’t remember which. Sometimes he sits in the comforting pool of yellow coming from the patio light and stares out into the woods. It’s a strange in-between he’s found himself in– being simultaneously less scared and more scared of those woods after the past few years.

Occasionally he catches the shine of lights or a rustle of movement, but it’s usually just a raccoon or a deer. It’s a bit like exposure therapy to sit there on the cool concrete of the patio with a cigarette between his lips and his bat resting against the wall of his house beside him. He doesn’t do it very often, and especially not in the past month after Vecna.

Steve allows his eyes to drift up, following the treeline into the circle of sky bracketed between the woods and the imposing cut of his house. And he gasps. The sky is dark in that way that happens directly after sunset– pitch black outside as the wildlife comes alive in the woods. Dustin finishes working on the telescope and wanders over to the backdoor to turn off the patio light that Steve usually leaves on. Steve, meanwhile, finds himself transfixed, head craned back in a way that would probably be painful if he could think of anything but what’s directly in front of him.

Above him the sky is– it’s almost overwhelming. A blanket of stars twinkles above them both. It looks like someone’s upended a bottle of glitter in the sky. It’s– Some of the stars are distinctly bigger and brighter than the others, some are different colours almost, all bright but some more blue than yellow or white. It’s amazing. He has no idea how long he stands there, slack-jawed, but it’s long enough that he completely forgets Dustin is there until the kid is tugging him down to sit on the ground. Steve’s distantly grateful that he remembered the blankets so that they don’t have to sit on the dewy grass.

“So, I’m guessing you like my celebration plans?” Dustin asks, finally drawing Steve’s eyes away from the sky. The kid’s fingers are leafing through the Nightwatch book with its thick pages. A lot of it looks like a textbook, but as he nears a dog-eared part of the book, Steve sees that the pages are covered in circles, dots, and lines that make no sense to him.

“This is amazing, Dus. I don’t think I’ve ever really properly stargazed before, this is a lot.” Steve’s eyes feel a bit tingly in that way which forces him to blink away the feeling or else start leaking emotions all over his friend. He clears his throat “What’s the book for?”

“Star charts,” Dustin says like it’s obvious before flopping himself backwards to be parallel with the sky. Following his lead, Steve lays down beside him, resting his hands on his stomach.

“What’s that?”

Instead of responding, Dustin holds the book up over their heads. It’s dark enough with the patio light off that Steve can’t see the book past the shadow of it above him, so he’s not upset when Dustin blinds them both with the flashlight he’s pulled out of his pocket. He rambles on about the positions of the stars above them and how charting them works. Steve listens content to his friend ramble about the recent breakthroughs in ‘light pollution' and as he describes the known history behind certain constellations or how to find the North Star. 

Eventually Dustin pushes Steve upright, shoving him behind the telescope to point out specific stars. He’ll never remember any of the names, but Dustin shows him Hercules and Lyra and Ursa Major and so many other shapes that it’s almost dizzying in a way that Steve can’t get enough of. The thing that shocks Steve the most is the stark, unblinking star that Dustin points out at Steve’s request. Steve remembers learning about the planets in school and knows enough about them to recite how many there are and tell anyone asking that at least one planet has rings around it.

Saturn?

Steve can see planets? People can just see planets up in the sky and no one even thinks twice about it, because it’s normal to them?

Dustin shuts that train of thought down by explaining that, no, people don’t always know that what their seeing even is a planet, but yes it’s pretty common to be able to see them in the sky if people know what to look for. The yellow dot isn’t twinkling like the other stars, Dustin says that’s because it’s closer to them than the other stars, which doesn’t really make sense, but Steve doesn’t know enough about astrology or whatever to dispute it.

Looking through the telescope with his glasses on is a bit tricky. He keeps trying to press himself closer to the eyehole as if it’ll make him closer to whatever’s up there, which only succeeds in him bumping his frames uncomfortably back into his face. After the fourth attempt ends with slight smudges on the bottom of his lenses from where they’ve pressed against his cheeks, Steve makes out the weird blurry shape of the planet, which is insane . He spares a fleeting thought to trying not to wake up his neighbours with how loud he whoops, sounding more like he’s watching football than looking at a planet ( a planet!) through his kid’s telescope.

They stay outside long enough that Dustin dozes off against his shoulder, mid-sentence talking about plotting coordinated or something. Steve wraps him in one of the blankets, carrying him inside to tuck him in on the couch just inside the door. He doesn’t know how to properly collapse the telescope, so he just moves it under the awning slightly to keep it safe from the dawn’s moisture. One hand scrubs down his face, stifling a yawn that he doesn’t really feel, while the other slides the back door closed again. Instead of heading inside to catch some sleep himself, Steve lays back down on the remaining blanket, staring at the sky for long enough that he hears when the mailman arrives with the beginnings of sunrise.

Steve walks the long way around his house instead of going through. The tail end of spring makes the night chilly still, but he’s always run hot. He doesn’t mind it– it feels a little like how camping probably feels (not that he’s ever done that either). He’s surprised to see not only the mailman’s car parked by his house but also Eddie’s van in his driveway. The man in question is sitting on Steve’s front stoop with a shocked look on his face and an unlit cigarette between his lips.

“Uh,” 

“Hello?” They both gracefully start in unison.

“I was just–”

“I didn’t know you were–”

“You first,” Steve waves his hands in front of himself, giving the floor to Eddie.

“I was, uh, you’re appointment is today, and I couldn’t sleep, so I just drove over here? I didn’t think you’d be up yet so I was waiting until a more reasonable hour to knock. Did you just– did you come from the backyard?” Eddie rambles, taking the cig out of his mouth to slide it back into the pack even though it’s slightly bent at the end where he’s bitten it in shock.

“Oh my god, you could’ve come around, I’ve been back there all night!” Steve laughs, covering his eyes.

“ All night!?” Eddie crows, too loudly for this early in the morning, “Did you lock yourself out of your house, Harrington,”

“No, I– Dustin came over last night to celebrate the specs,”

“Did he get locked out too?”

“No, moron, he brought his telescope over and we stargazed,” He says with a note of awe like he’s seven years old and still believes in Santa Claus. Eddie’s face goes soft at the edges.

“Oh yeah, see anything interesting, baby?” He prompts.

“Eddie, there are so many stars, ”

“That there are,” Eddie pats him softly on the cheek. “Wanna head in? I got your mail from the mailman. A bit weird that he just gave it to me, though, what if I was doing mail fraud?”

“Anything interesting?” Steve asks, threading their hands together to walk them both back around to the patio.

“There’s a few… bills? I’m assuming these are bills. They’re addressed to your dad. Uh, this one’s for the auto shop that just opened just outside town. Liquor store, liquor store, oh–!”

Steve,

You have no idea how happy I was to see your letter in the mail. I think I have read it front to back nearly seven times by now! Susan jokes that I must have it memorized by now, and I think she may be right–

It’s all Steve can do to tamp down his patience enough to get inside the house before he’s tearing the envelope apart. Well, not tearing it and more artfully dissecting it like he’s handling a precious artefact. Eddie kisses him on both temples before busying himself in the kitchen, leaving Steve to read his letter in peace. Dustin wakes up, bleary-eyed and tangled in Steve’s blanket. He’s immediately surprised by Eddie, who wrangles the boy into the kitchen to help him plate some toast. Dustin tries to pour himself a mug of coffee, which Eddie swaps with surprising stealth to slide him some tea instead.

“So I’ve been doing some research,” Eddie says through a mouthful of toast that drips crumbs all over the table. The look of disgust goes pointedly ignored, “And it would probably be good to make, like, a list of what you’ve got going on. It might be easier for the doctor.”

“You’ve been doing research?” Steve raises an eyebrow. 

“You’re going to see a doctor?” Dustin asks, head swivelling to face Steve. He’s got a slightly panicked edge to his face, that Steve doesn’t like. He drops his toast to raise his hands placatingly.

“Whoa, it’s just to check on my head, I’m okay,”

“Well, you will be okay. I’ll make sure of it,” Eddie grins. This is not helpful.

“Are you hurt?” Dustin’s voice gets a little breathy in that way it tends to when he’s on the verge of getting overtaken by his nerves, “What’s happening? Steve? Eddie, what’s happening to Steve?”

“Oh, uh, no, little man, he’s doing fine. I didn’t mean to worry you like that. This is just an appointment to check on your babysitter’s noggin there,” Eddie demonstrates by tapping Steve’s temple lightly, “It’s related to the glasses,”

“Yeah, the lady who gave me these bad boys recommended I talk to someone about all the, uh, times I’ve hit my head? Like, remember Upside Down round 2 with Billy Hargrove?”

“Billy Hargrove?” Eddie echoes, voice kind of small in a weird way.

“Oh, with the plate?”

“ The plate?”

“Yes, honey, the plate, ” Steve waves his hand dismissively in Eddie’s direction. “Yeah, that and the other times might have left me with a bit of a screwy brain.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Steve lets himself take a breath when Dustin goes back to his toast. “So what kind of research are we doing?”

“Well, it would probably help to make a list, right? We can write down all the things you’ve experienced since you hit your head and go from there.”

“Since which time?” Steve cocked his head to the side.

“Oh, um, sweetheart, every time preferably?” Eddie looks at him with a pained expression.

“Since when did you two get so close? Honey this and sweetheart that–” Dustin starts only to be cut off by Eddie’s hand covering his mouth. Eddie makes a face at the feeling of crumbs on his palm and then pretends to gag when Dustin follows it up by sticking his tongue out. “Maybe I was asking because I was happy for you, idiots! But now I take it back, you two are gross and I hate you,”

“Maybe we should make another list of times I’ve hit my head,” Steve says instead, rolling his eyes.

“Good plan,” Dustin nods, getting down to business.

I do remember Joyce and Karen. Is Joyce still with Lonnie? I always hoped she’d leave him, but I have not really kept in touch as much as I should have. For what it is worth, I have not heard from your father either. I do still live in the cottage, as you can tell given that I’m responding to your letter, but now Susan lives with me not next door. I’m so glad to hear that you have a network there. Speaking of, I did know Harriet Munson! She and Wayne were dear friends of Susan’s and they kept in touch for a long time before Harriet’s passing–

The list goes as follows: Steve rolling out symptoms while Eddie writes them down and Dustin jumps in where needed. As it turns out, there are moments Dustin remembers that Steve doesn’t– moments like he had at the Byers’ dinner table. Dustin details a few moments where Steve would go blank behind the eyes and disappear into his head after the Billy Incident. With a certain amount of unwillingness, Steve admits that he can’t actually remember much of his senior year after the Billy Concussion.

The list of head injuries is a bit easier– It’s hard to forget being knocked around by Russians under a shopping mall or slammed unconscious into a wall by Vecna’s vines. Even there, though, Dustin chimes in with little tidbits surrounding his time after the Russians, each word making the concerned wrinkle between Eddie’s eyebrows deeper.

“Sorry, you got tortured and then drugged against your will with an unknown substance just, what, eight months ago?” Eddie lays down his pen to scrub tiredly at his face.

“I mean, yeah?” Steve says. “It was all Upside Down stuff. That was our third go at everything back when the mall burned down.”

“Yeah, Steve and Robin got taken and we found them in the movie theatre bathroom puking their guts out,” Dustin explains, “They were both laughing a lot and really dizzy. I remember that much at least. Things kind of blend together when things really kick off, so they were hard to keep track of,”

“Oh my god, um, okay. Any other things I should be worried about?”

“You’ve got the normal ones?” Steve asks, leaning over to read over Eddie’s printing. Looking at the guy he’d kind of assumed that his printing would be chicken scratch– damn near illegible– but the lists and the notes he’d written in Steve’s car notebook were both printed nicely in neat capital letters.

“I’m not going to let you call your dad closing a door on your head normal, but yeah, he wrote down that and the other sports ones too.” Dustin kicks his feet against the chair as he chews the last piece of toast that he’d swiped from Steve’s plate. 

“Alright, that’s pretty well our cue, then. We dropping you off on the way out of town, munchkin?” Eddie ruffles the boy’s curls. Dustin makes a scene out of rolling his eyes, huffing and sliding off his chair onto the ground trying to get the older boys to bring him into the city for the day. Steve hides his laughter behind his hand as he watches Eddie try to be the tough parent for once. In the end, Eddie helps Dustin fold up his telescope in the backyard, and even folds the blankets neatly in a pile. 

I’d love nothing more than to meet your people. Things have changed on our end as well, unfortunately, so it may be easiest for you to meet us out here or at least partway. Susan had quite a bad fall at work a few years back and now she gets around in a chair. Thank goodness for the bungalow! It was the easiest thing in the world to simply move her in with me. It would be the absolute highlight of my day to meet this Eddie since he makes you so happy, and yes I can read between those lines. Have you told him yet?–

They listen to both the A and B sides from a random unlabelled mixtape Steve finds in the pocket of his backseat. It has a startling amount of Eddie Money on it, so it’s probably Mike’s. He’s not entirely sure why it’s in his car , but once the radio fades to static on the freeway, he’s grateful to have anything at all to listen to. Eddie complains throughout the whole thing about having to listen to Steve’s music for the past few days, but shuts up as soon as Steve challenges him to ‘just put some of your own shit in here then, idiot’.

A comfortable silence falls over them once the mixtape has run its course.

“Hey,” Steve finally caves, never one to be left in the quiet for long.

“Hi,” Eddie’s lips quirk up.

“How would you feel about meeting my aunts?” Steve asks nonchalantly, picking at his cuticles and ignoring the way Eddie’s hand tightens ever so slightly on his thigh.

“Oh?” Eddie squeaks.

“Yeah, they mentioned wanting to meet you, and, well, I want you to meet them too.”

“ Wow ,” 

“What?” Steve furrows his brow as he turns to glance at Eddie. The other man’s face has gone deliciously red.

“I just– Wow, I get you all to myself, huh?” That glint is back in Eddie’s eye making Steve snicker.

“Jesus, Munson,” He has a joking tone in his voice that does wonders to hide the fact that he’s incredibly weak in the knees.

And Steve, I know he’s my brother, but I have to say that I’m glad you don’t interact with your dad much anymore. If you or Eddie need anywhere to stay, I know Wayne Munson is a good man, but you also have us. We’re a bit of a trek out of the way, but we have a spare bedroom and a load of household chores to keep you occupied. I’m just kidding! Well, not about the house– we always protect our own. This includes this Robin girl, by the way. She sounds wonderful. Are you sure you’re keeping yourself safe? What’s this I hear about head injuries?

I’m very sorry to say it through a letter, I think you’re misremembering what happened the last time I saw your folks– before my brother cut Susan and me out of your life–

Eddie comes into the neurologist appointment this time. They both figure it would be best to have another person there especially given how much Dustin was supplying back in the house. It seems that Steve has less of an idea of his own brain than he’d thought. The story, of course, is made up of those half-cocked lies Dr. Owens had fed the press, but the gist comes across alright. In fact, there’s a lot less lying when he actually gets down to it than he originally thought there would be.

The doctor asks him about his symptoms, when they started, and how frequently they occurred. He seems particularly interested in the migraines, but his brow furrows a lot in their conversation as he scratches away notes on his clipboard. He mentions his ER visit after the tunnels, prompting Eddie to unveil his prescription migraine pills which the doctor analyzes and notes before handing them back. He gets a requisition for a handful of tests that supposedly have to be scheduled for a later day, including a CT scan (whatever that is), and some blood work. Eddie kicks him in the ankle like he can read Steve’s mind as soon as Steve starts worrying about making Eddie do more driving for him.

They buy gross coffee and stale croissants from the lobby after the appointment. Steve feels wobbly. Being around Eddie makes him want to do chivalrous things like hold the door open for him, and kiss the back of his hand. Which is ridiculous. In the end, he holds the bag of pastries and both of the drinks while Eddie opens the door for Steve all deep bows and dramatic flourishes.

“After you, my Liege,” Eddie says to the ground, spine straight like he’s actually in the presence of royalty. Behind the curtain of his hair, Steve can just make out Eddie’s stupid little grin. It makes him curse the fact that they’re in public and his hands are full because he wants nothing more than to kiss that smile and feel the curve of it against his own skin. His fingers buzz with the knowledge that he actually can do things like this now. He settles for holding Eddie’s hand in the car, clasped out of the view of the windows while Eddie smiles freely.

Steve thinks of Anna and Susan while he feeds Eddie the last bite of his own croissant, laughing when Eddie goes to chomp down on his fingers instead. He thinks of the easy love they had, of what he remembers of spending time at their bungalow. Small things stand out to him– the way Anna used to name her houses (‘Anna’s cottage’ being the name of their bungalow), the way Susan used to coo over his hair. His mother for the first few years of his life had neglected to get his hair cut, so Susan would braid it for him. That had been put to a stop at his father’s insistence that they weren’t raising a girl, Sharon.

Anna’s bungalow was small with a large muddy garden in the front filled with vegetables and flowers. There was an art studio out back converted from the shed. He remembers standing on a stool to see himself in Anna’s vanity, brushing his hair with her bristle brush pretending his dark hair and brown eyes matched Anna's more than they matched his mother's. Anna had the same sloped nose as Steve and his father and the same dark eyebrows– features Steve has always cherished. He'd dress up in her work clothes, swamped in her pastel button-ups and worn jeans.

He rubs his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles absent-mindedly while Eddie drives. Sure, the day in the city is brought on by a doctor’s appointment, but Steve’s starting to find out that Eddie can turn anything into a date. Where Steve likes to plan things out and woo his partner, Eddie will turn a shitty 10-cent coffee and a trip to the big city music store into an occasion that feels just as romantic. They have to let go of each other’s hands in the stores, but that’s okay because it means Eddie’s got free range of movement to gesture wildly as he picks out cassettes to keep in Steve's glove box.

I remember the night you mentioned in your letter, but I did let Susan read it to confirm what I remember. I was there that night– Susan too. I think your parents knew about the two of us already, but they’d settled on looking the other way for the sake of free babysitting. What I mean to say, Steve, is that it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong that forced your father’s hand– I think he’d been planning that whole… ex-communication for a while. 

That night was the night that your father tried to make a pass at Sue– He cornered her in his office while you were opening gifts and tried to… Well, I’m sure you can understand. Sue clocked him over the head with some kitschy mug to get away, and when your mother found out, she blamed it on Sue. We refused to come back ever since, but it was both of your parents who are at fault here, not you, baby. Even if it were as you remembered, it would have never been your fault. I’m so so sorry we’ve left you alone for so long. It’s a bit of a heavy note to end the letter on, but I can’t live with you bearing that guilt on your own. We miss you

Give us a call when you’re ready to come home for a visit.

XXX-XXXX

Love and stuff,

Sue’s Anna xoxo

Chapter Text

The afternoon stretches into evening which finds the boys eating dinner together in the backseat of Steve’s BMW. They have their backs against either door, feet and legs tangled between them. Steve has treated for dinner and is watching cautiously as Eddie nearly topples his to-go container off of his knee every other second with the way his hands are flying. He should be paying more attention, but he has Eddie’s leather jacket around his shoulders, and the comforting weight of Eddie’s legs against his– plus he’d be hard pressed to focus on anything besides the inevitability of Eddie’s dinner crusting into the stitching of his seats.

He blinks into awareness when Eddie taps him on the forehead, leaning forward with a concerned expression on his face.

“There you are, baby,” Eddie bends himself nearly in half to grab Steve’s hand only to press a kiss against his pulse point.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

“I know, baby, it’s okay. Are you about ready to head back soon?” Eddie caresses his hand, and, wow, that should not be enough to get Steve's blood pumping, but here he is flushed red. Suddenly, he’s aware of all of the points of contact between them, Eddie’s scuffed black boot pressed into the inside of his thigh. Oh, Jesus Christ, he needs to think about literally anything else. It’s hard to do that, though, with the way Eddie’s smiling knowingly, mouth still pressed to the inside of Steve’s wrist. “Or else we could…”

“Um,” Steve’s voice is breathy in a rather embarrassing way, he thinks, “Can I come back to yours this time? I just... going back to my parent's house after reading that last letter doesn't really feel right.” He really doesn’t know why he’s breathing so hard, but Eddie’s smile widens and he can feel the slight drag of his teeth catch on the fading ligature scars there.

“Of course,” Eddie moves Steve’s hand so that he can individually kiss the pads of each of his fingers, and Steve melts into it. His body relaxes against the door behind him, eyes half-lidded but maintaining eye contact with Eddie through his lashes. “Anything you want,”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say, Eddie,” Steve says, voice a little choked off in his throat.

“I know what I meant when I said it, sweetheart,” Eddie smiles softly, pressing one more kiss to the palm of Steve’s hand before relinquishing it. “How bout we get ourselves home? We’ll be driving in the dark for a while, so it’s a good thing we’ve got Def Leppard to keep us company, huh? If the radio plays Walk of Life one more time I’m going to send personalized hatemail to Dire Straits.”

Steve finds himself laughing lightly even while he mourns the feeling of Eddie holding his hand. “Alright, that I can agree with,” He tumbles out of the car, jokingly singing the opening bars of the Dire Straits song while Eddie pelts cold fries at his back. “Can I call my aunts from your place? Oh, maybe I should tell Wayne about it first,”

“I can’t believe they knew each other! What are the fucking odds, man,” Eddie bounces excitedly in the passenger seat, hand briefly coming up to squeeze the back of Steve’s neck. “And yeah, feel free, though Wayne’ll probably try to hop on at some point. I can’t believe we’re already meeting the family. How official,”

“As if you aren’t already a part of my family,” Steve shoots back with a grin that quickly dissipates when he registers what he’s said. He’s just being honest, but maybe it’s too honest too soon. It feels silly to freak out over something small like this when Eddie’s obviously become a part of the party by now. Hell, the kids apparently call them mom and dad behind their back, but he still can’t help

“Oh?” Eddie asks, voice reedy and eyebrows rising into his hairline.

“Well, I mean– the party is one big, uh, family? We’re all…family,” Steve finishes lamely. 

“St–” 

“The kids call us mom and dad,” Steve blurts out, cursing himself for not sleeping the night before because obviously, his filter is fucking gone.

“They do?” Eddie’s eyes are huge. 

“Yeah,” Steve’s voice betrays how embarrassed he is.

“Interesting,”

“What you aren’t gonna ask who’s who?” Steve asks hastily.

“As if you aren’t the most motherly person in The Party. You’ve got more maternal bones in your body than both Nancy and Robin combined,” Eddie teases. Annoyingly, his hands are both on the wheel, but Steve’s not about to grab him again and get them both killed.

“Oh my god, gimme– gimme your hand, please, I’m dying over here. You’re leaving me to drown,”

“Well, now, we can’t have that,” Eddie teases, reaching over to pin Steve’s hand familiarly to the stickshift.

“No, sir,” Steve chirps. Just to feel the weight of Eddie’s hand on his, Steve wiggles his fingers around against the stickshift. Eddie’s hand squeezes his.

“ Steve ,” Eddie draws out, “Don’t fucking say shit like that when I’m going 70 on the highway, oh my god, ”

“Oh, interesting. You like that do you?” Steve murmurs, and maybe he’s going to get them in trouble, but he can’t stop himself from leaning forward to plant a kiss on the side of Eddie’s neck.

“Steve, baby, ” Eddie’s voice wavers, but he doesn’t take his hand off Steve’s on the stick shift. Instead of using his hands to push him back, he lowers his voice and gives Steve a look that makes him want to pull the car over immediately just to get down on his knees just to– “ Sit ,”

“Okay,” Steve breathes out and does exactly that.

“Good boy,” Eddie says gruffly, hands tight where they’re clasped on the wheel and over Steve’s hand. Steve’s free hand comes up to press against his forehead like he’s checking his temperature– Yup, a million degrees because Eddie’s decided to kill him.

“Not fair, dude, if I can’t call you that you can’t say that shit either unless you’re planning to act on it,”

Eddie’s laughing, lightening his grip so that his rings don’t bite so much into Steve’s skin. Steve sinks back into his seat, enjoying the peaceful darkness as they drive. Beside him, Eddie’s singing along to the Def Leppard cassette he’d picked out back in Indianapolis. He’s tapping the drum beat onto the steering wheel.

For the first time since the sun has set, a car speeds past them, heading in the opposite direction. It would regularly be a complete regular occurrence if not for the fact that Steve unintentionally stares down the car's headlights. His entire body flinches back into his seat hard , eyes squeezing abruptly shut with a muffled grunt. Immediately, Eddie’s hand lets go of the stickshift to grip Steve’s chin. His eyes flick back and forth between the road and Steve’s face.

“Whoa, sweetheart, what happened there?” He asks. Steve opens his eyes once the glare of the long-gone headlights has faded from his eyelids.

“Sorry, I didn’t see the car coming. The headlights were really bright that’s all,” Steve does not take pleasure in the way his voice slurs slightly once or twice while he speaks. He’d taken his Tylenol and migraine medication out of the car which left just El’s little bottle of ibuprofen. It would do. He turns to take the bottle out of the glove box, letting Eddie’s hand slip from his chin to the back of his head. As soon as they hit the nape of his neck, Eddie’s fingers begin running his fingers through the hair.

“You doing okay? What was it Robin was asking last time? Uh… What number is this?”

“Oh yeah, I’m alright. It’s not a migraine just a… headache? It’s a little different. I just didn't expect the lights on that thing and it kind of shocked me.” Eddie taps his fingers on the base of Steve’s skull as he dry swallows two pills. The bottle is running low. He makes a mental note, which he’ll definitely forget, to buy more. Steve has half the mind to feel guilty for Eddie’s abrupt change in mood before Eddie reads his mind and glares at him.

“None of that. You aren’t bothering me, Stevie, just tell me how I can help,” Steve shrinks down, contorting his body so that his head is resting on the centre console.

“I like whatever you’re doing to my head,” Steve hums, “I should be okay I promise.” He flinches still whenever a car passes them, but with his view obstructed by the dashboard and the pain meds working their way through his system, his headache dwindles almost immediately. On the outskirts of Hawkins, Eddie pulls off into the shoulder. Steve makes a confused sound and looks up at his with a furrowed brow just in time for his sunglasses to be slid onto his face. It’s awkward and clunky with his glasses on, and they don’t stay up, but he’s glad he has them on when they roll into the city. The streetlights aren’t very bright in Hawkins, but they’re still bright enough for his livewire brain.

Once the ibuprofen kicks in, he slowly sits back up, Eddie’s hand flopping down onto the centre console. Steve doesn’t remember any warm fuzzy feeling like before or have any feeling like he’s missing time, but he still can’t help but feel like they’ve gotten to Forest Hills surprisingly fast. The car has rolled to a stop and hasn’t started moving again, which clues Steve into the fact that the car is sitting in front of the Munson trailer and Steve has no idea when they got there.

“Oh,” Steve takes the glasses off warily, only putting them back in their usual spot when the light bouncing off the siding doesn’t blind him, “We’re here,”

“Home sweet home,” Eddie smiles at him from across the car, which feels like it could be from miles away for some reason. Steve yawns, “How was your sleep?”

“My sleep?” Steve screws up his face in confusion, making Eddie laugh.

“Yeah, sweetheart, unless you normally drool and snore when you’re fully conscious?”

“I do not ,” Steve asserts, but he knows the defense is weak by how hot his face feels.

“It’s okay. You looked like you needed it.” Eddie combs a hand through Steve’s hand, tugging at the ends to drag him into a single short kiss. “Ready to head inside?”

“Sorry, how long have we been sitting here?”

“Not that long,” Eddie waves his worries away, “Wayne peeked his head out earlier to let me know he waited up. How’s your head?”

“The meds have kicked in, so I’m good. Sorry for leaving you alone with your thoughts on the highway there,” Steve says sheepishly. 

“Meh, it’s fine, I just kept flipping the tape,”

Wayne is handwashing a mug in the kitchen sink when the boys finally head inside. Thinking back, Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Wayne in anything but denim and thinning button-ups. It feels inexplicably wrong to see the man in pyjamas.

“Finally found your way in, boys?” Wayne pours the sudsy water back into the sink and places the dish on a tea towel. From any other adult, Wayne’s way of doing things would be off-putting, and even though he means nothing by it Steve still feels a certain level of discomfort at his tone. It isn’t Wayne’s fault, but he grew up with parents who could weaponize the slightest thing. He’s warming up, but adults still put him on edge. Eddie must feel him tense because suddenly he’s smoothing his hand up and down Steve’s side, which just opens a whole other can of worms. Does Wayne know about them? Did Eddie tell him? 

He’s so focused on the questions screaming through his head at breakneck speeds and the soothing feeling of Eddie’s touch that he doesn’t even realize that the conversation has carried on without him. One moment he’s standing in the doorway worrying about anything and everything under the sun, and the next he’s being walked over to the couch by Eddie. There’s a warm hand on the small of his back that reminds him of the times he’d go places with girls. He looks up at Eddie with a questioning look on his face.

“Oh, there he is. Welcome back,” Eddie smiles at him, less nervous now that he’s started getting used to these blips.

“Didn’t go anywhere,” Steve covers a yawn with a fist, “I was just thinking,”

“Never a good sign,” Eddie teases and pushes him onto the couch with more force than necessary. He obviously doesn’t expect Steve to grapple him as soon as he starts falling so that they fall into a heap on the cushions. The TV is off, but the lights are still on. There’s no sign of Wayne. It takes all of Steve’s energy to force his attention on Eddie so that he doesn’t have an actual freakout. It’s starting to feel a little bit like he’s losing his mind. The fuzzy feeling isn’t great , but he prefers it to losing time. “What’s on your mind?”

“Does Wayne know about us?” The words are spoken as whispers. He knows Wayne is different than his father. He knows that, but he can’t help the nerves. Hell, it had taken years to adjust to Hopper, and that was Hopper. Steve and Eddie’s faces are centimetres apart, still tangled from head to toe on the sofa. He’s sure Eddie can read the subtext of the question in his eyes– Is he safe? Are you safe?

“I told him. Is that okay?” Eddie’s eyebrows arch in sudden worry, his hands coming up to cup Steve’s jaw. A brief flash of something like irritation makes Steve prickle for a moment before he stops to ask himself why the hell he’s upset. He told Robin so it’s only fair. Not that he distrusts Wayne, necessarily. Besides, if he knew Susan then maybe…? Steve swallows, eyes flitting away from Eddie’s face as he nods. “Good. Wayne’s my people just like you and Buckley. He’s the one who sort of knocked my head back on my shoulders that day you had the migraine. Well, Buckley definitely helped, but it was mostly Wayne yelling at me for ‘sabotaging my happiness again’ that did it. Old sap.” 

Steve cups Eddie’s wrists, one hand resting on top of Eddie’s elastics collection. His fingers stall when they touch the hair ties. He knows how tight these can get– it’s part of the reason his work vest is the one with Robin’s hair tie stash in the pocket. He furrows his brow and starts slowly slipping elastics off of Eddie’s wrist. Eddie makes an unexpected uncomfortable sound and sits up so that his back is to the couch’s armrest.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, voice guarded.

“Oh, I was just… Aren’t those tight? You’ve been wearing them for, like, weeks. How have you not lost feeling in your fingertips by now?” Steve reaches out and lightly brings Eddie’s arm back toward him. He can’t read Eddie’s facial expression, “What are you thinking right now?”

“It’s kind of–” Eddie puffs out a breath and looks upward like he’s struggling to explain himself, “It’s a habit. From when I was younger. You can– You can see if you promise not to freak out.”

And doesn’t a sentence like that just cause Steve’s blood to chill inside his veins. For a fraction of a second, Steve’s vision seems to tunnel like he’s going to pass out, and he can’t do anything about it besides move toward Eddie like he’s got some sort of immense gravitational pull. Eddie’s shaking again, and Steve did something to cause it again even if he doesn’t know what it was. When he comes to a stop, he’s moved to sit cross-legged right in front of Eddie, his wrist still loosely cradled against Steve’s chest.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks instead of continuing his previous actions. He’d have to be stupid to not see that Eddie’s obviously panicking and there’s a misty almost far away look in his guarded eyes that Steve doesn’t like.

“I’m okay,” He says but it’s more of a whisper. Steve gives him back his hand and curls his knees up under his chin to put some space between them.

“I’m not going to touch you if you’re not okay with it,” 

“I– I am!” Eddie blurts and this time he’s the one reaching out to hold onto Steve, “I am. I’m okay if it’s you. No one else has ever– I think no one else has ever, um, seen this except for Wayne? So I don’t– fuck– I don’t know how you’ll react.”

“Whatever it is doesn’t have to be a big deal, I just don’t know how you plan to keep playing guitar when your fingers inevitably fall off from the lack of circulation,” Steve rolls his eyes, quietly grateful when he hears Eddie laugh.

“Fine,” Eddie offers his arm back up, “But don’t react,”

“Aye aye, cap’n” The feeling of warmth that comes with Eddie’s laughter is something Steve thinks he’ll cherish forever. He takes the elastics off one by one and tosses them gently on top of the coffee table. He’s never been especially good at schooling his facial expressions, but he does his best to ignore the small collection of straight, faded scars along Eddie’s wrist– still slightly hidden by the imprints of the hair ties. He drags his eyes up to meet Eddie’s and clears his throat, “Do you want me to braid your hair? I’ve got all these things off, might as well use some of them.”

For a second, Eddie hesitates, the guarded look in his eyes back in full force but nearly overshadowed by confusion. One beat– Two– Eddie’s face cracks into a watery smile, all teeth and soft eyes with a fondness that makes Steve want to keep him forever. “Sure, that would be nice,”

They swap positions, Steve scooting back to his side of the couch and leaning back so that Eddie can settle between his knees. His hair is soft as he combs through it with his fingers. This time, he takes his time with the braids, fingers pulling tangles apart lightly, and scratching softly at Eddie’s scalp in a way that makes the other man sigh. The sound of Wayne snoring comes from behind his closed bedroom door– something that Steve will always tease the man about but secretly finds comforting. 

It’s something he appreciates about spending time with the other Party members. His house had its loud moments when he brought people over, sure, but at its base level, the Harrington house was a quiet thing. It’s something he knows Max notices, but for the opposite reasons, Steve does. She’s been known to come over the past few years just to bask in the silence– not having to worry about listening out for gravel crunching under tires or clinking glass from other rooms. No need to be on edge for smaller sounds that could denote louder, scarier sounds like shattering– breaking– yelling. Eddie’s trailer, much like Robin’s house or the Hopper-Byer’s cabin, always has sounds. He can’t help but crave it sometimes. Signs of life.

Eddie is nearly fully pressed against Steve’s chest by the time the braid is done and tied over his shoulder. Once he’s laid the braid gently over Eddie’s front, he drags Eddie up into a slightly more comfortable position against his chest and wraps his arms around him from behind. This feels like something to keep and savour in the way desserts were something hidden at his house. When Eddie knocks his head back over Steve’s shoulder, Steve takes full advantage of the moment to kiss up the column of his throat. Eddie gasps, obviously trying to be quiet, and one of his hands comes up to bury itself in Steve’s hair, directing his face over to kiss him on the mouth instead.

“Ah, sweetheart, we can’t just– Wayne could see us out here–” Eddie starts only to be comically cut off by a particularly gruesome snore down the hallway.

“Yeah, I don’t think that guy’s walking out here any time soon,” Steve snickers, but dutifully stops, either way, to help Eddie to his feet. They shut down the house together, Steve sitting patiently on the arm of the sofa while Eddie locks and relocks and locks and relocks the door until he feels satisfied. Steve steals the softest pair of sweat pants and the most used t-shirt he can find while Eddie goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. It feels good like he’s staking his claim, to be the one wearing Eddie’s clothes this time. If this is how Eddie’s felt all the times he’s stolen clothes from Steve then he finally understands.

The room is familiar enough to Steve, but obviously still unfamiliar to Eddie. The Munsons hadn’t wanted their move to be too wild, especially since Eddie’d sort of imprinted on Max, so they’d stayed in Forest Hills. The trailer was similar with the same floor plan, paint job, and wallpaper, but the rooms were swapped. Steve watched Eddie move on instinct around the room, tripping up as he tries to absent-mindedly kick the door shut only to remember that it's not where the previous one used to be. It makes him agitated enough to bury himself in Steve’s open arms as soon as he’s changed into his own sleep clothes.

The room is quiet save for the sound of them breathing, but this quiet feels safe. The window above Eddie’s desk doesn’t have curtains, because the darkness freaks Eddie out, so Steve can see the sky over Eddie’s head as he holds him. Catching Eddie in a quiet mood is rare, so Steve holds him through the breaths that puff across his collarbone. It’s a full moon outside so the bedroom is cast in a silvery glow following the path of the window. It makes Eddie’s hair look lighter in the cool-toned light. Steve can’t help but press a kiss to his head.

“Okay?” Steve asks softly, fingers petting over the back of Eddie’s head over the bumps of the braids. Eddie nods instead of responding, pressing his nose into the bend of Steve’s neck. They haven’t spent as much time at Eddie’s as they have at Steve’s, and he has no idea why because being in this place and in this room has him feeling more comfortable than he’s felt in a long time. It’s like living and breathing Eddie. The room looks like him and feels like him and, comfort of all comforts, smells like him. He knows on the surface that if he wasn’t so damned attracted to this man that the teenage boy smell of this bedroom would not be as nice as he thinks it is.

Eddie falls asleep first, curled up in Steve’s arms as though if he presses himself close enough, they’ll meld together. Steve doesn’t mind. The pressure of the other boy on top of him is nice in a way he wouldn’t expect. He stays awake for a while, willing himself to sleep, but all he can focus on are the puffs of breath against his neck and the tickle of Eddie’s hair. He spends a long time counting sheep if by ‘counting’ and ‘sheep’ he means cataloging every last inch of Eddie. 

He pets his hair and revels in the ways Eddie moves and reacts to him even while sleeping. It’s intoxicating to watch him shift and hum as Steve lays there drawing images lightly between Eddie’s shoulderblades. He thinks back to their first night together where Eddie threatened him with being a light sleeper and he has to shove a hand over his mouth to stop from laughing. Light sleeper his ass. Steve’s been all but tickling him in his sleep and he hasn’t even cracked open an eye. It becomes a game for him to keep himself occupied as he pokes the other man and prods at him only to stop when Eddie makes a (cute) garbled noise in his sleep and swats at his hands.

Although it takes a while, Steve eventually drifts off to sleep, fingers intertwined with Eddie’s. He wakes up to the sunrise. For a split second, it’s annoying and bright with the sun in his eyes, but then he feels the warm weight of his– Eddie on his chest, arms holding him tight. The sunrise makes him glow. Wayne is puttering around in the kitchen which reminds him that he should probably be having a conversation with Wayne. And as much as he loves laying here with Eddie, he’s really gotta piss. The process of untangling himself from the other boy without waking him is intricate and extremely fucking difficult.

Wayne hands him a glass of water when he finally stumbles his way to the kitchen. He makes a face at the glass, only succeeding in earning a raised eyebrow from the man.

“Why do you get coffee and I don’t?” Steve asks, feeling stupidly childish like he does when he talks to Hopper sometimes.

“Never said you couldn’t have any,” Wayne drawls, leaning back in his chair, “You can help yourself after you’ve had some water too. If you’re anything like my kid, you’ve probably forgotten that’s one of those dastardly things your body needs to stay upright,”

Steve grumbles but dutifully drinks the glass of water he’s been handed. Once he’s finished, Wayne stands to get a second cup of coffee pulling down a chipped brown mug for Steve too.

“Thank you for the hospitality , Mr. Munson,” Steve says, making extra careful to emphasize his sarcasm.

“Yeah yeah, life’s a bitch ain’t it,” Wayne claps him on the shoulder. “Is Ed still asleep?”

“Dead asleep, yeah,” Steve snickers.

“The boy could sleep through the end of the world,” Wayne says with a fond gleam in his eye.  He really does love his nephew, even Steve can tell. Wayne’s gruff and not so good with feelings, but he cares loudly, that much is clear. “So what’s new with you, Steven ,”

“Oh, I’m gonna kill him,” Steve groans as Wayne guffaws. “Don’t call me that, god, you sound like my dad,”

“I’ll quit it when you quit it with the Mr. Munson bull. You make me feel ancient, kid,” They square each other up through glaring eyes.

“Truce?” Steve says finally.

“Truce,” Wayne gives him a small sarcastic smile and a handshake over the table. “Now what was this Eddie was telling me about the two of us both knowing Susan Carmicheal?” Steve feels himself perk up like a dog that had its name called.

“Yes! I got a letter from my Aunt yesterday where she said you two knew each other. Or, well, that Susan knew Eddie’s Aunt and you by extension, I guess? I don’t know.”

“That I do. I knew both Anna and Susan back in our heyday, Susan more than your aunt, but that was mostly due to her being a Harrington,” Wayne gives him an apologetic look that Steve just shrugs off. He gets it. “We went to High School together and stayed in touch even when they moved away.”

“Do you know that they’re…” Steve trails off the sentence. He is trying desperately to test the waters without rocking the boat, and the last thing he wants is to put his loved ones in danger. It’s hard to reason with his instincts. He knows Wayne is safe, because Eddie trusts him, but trying to drill that into his brain is taking a minute. He’s still in the process of unlearning a lot. Trust will come in time.

“That they’re what?” Wayne asks. Instead of responding, Steve takes a long drink of his coffee. It burns his tongue and throat, but the nerves help him overlook it. Wayne’s face softens almost imperceptibly before he speaks. “That they’re together? Yeah, I know they’re an item– Have known since I caught the two of ‘em macking under the bleachers after school in twelfth grade. They were frightened then as you are now, I can assume. Listen, I can’t claim to understand how things are or will be for people like you or my boy, Steve Harrington, but you can rest assured that you always have a space here. I’m not about’a hit you for wanting to kiss my nephew neither, so you can cool your jets on that front too.”

It’s all said in Wayne Munson’s classic no-nonsense tone, but Steve still feels a weight lift right off of his shoulders. 

“That said,” Wayne leans slightly across the table, “Hurt my Ed and you’ll be in a world of hurt, d’you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Steve nods, gulping painfully just as Eddie pads down the hall.

“Wayne you’d better not be threatening my Steve,” Eddie yawns, eyes still bleary. He’s put socks on since Steve’s been up. Seeing him like this is as endearing as usual. Eddie sleepily plops himself down in the chair beside Steve, stealing a swig of Steve’s coffee before resting his head down on the table. Steve smiles fondly and brings his hand up to rest on the back of Eddie’s head. The braid has become loose and wild with sleep and is barely hanging on.

“Nothin’ of the sort. We were just talking about Steve’s aunts,” Wayne nods in approval at the boys, leaning back as though he wasn’t just threatening Steve’s life.

“Oh yeah? You know ‘em?” Eddie shuffles his chair over so that he can rest his head on Steve’s shoulder instead of the table.

“Certainly did, though not as good as our Harriet did. She and them were close as anything growing up– grew up here. I have half the mind to think they’d been friends all the way since Kindergarten. I only came into the equation when I got off my ass and moved here for high school.”

“You’re not from Hawkins?” Steve asks curiously, holding his mug up for Eddie to take another drink from.

“Nah, the Munson line’s from Georgia.”

“That’s where I was born,” Eddie adds, still half asleep, “Moved in with Wayne pretty quick, though. I don’t remember much of it.”

“There’s a whole shwack of us in Appalachia.”

“That’s kinda cool. I’ve never been outside of Indiana,”

“Wait really?” Eddie asks, finally lifting his head to look at Steve in confusion, “You mean to tell me your parents have, like, a weird gift store knick-knack from every country in the world and you’ve never gotten out of here once? ”

Steve shrugs.

“Cliff and Sharon Harrington have never been the most generous people in the world,” Wayne mumbles. “It seems time doesn’t heal every tough heart there is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie furrows his brow.

“Once a dick, always a dick.” Steve smirks, “I’d say it runs in a Harrington’s blood to be a bully, but Anna turned out pretty okay I think.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself, Junior,” Wayne says with a light teasing note in his voice.

“Nowadays, maybe,” Steve concedes with a laugh, “I was gonna see if I could give them a call today. Is it alright if I do that here?”

“Make yourself at home, kid, as long as I can steal the line from you eventually. Susan’s got some nerve not writing me back all these years, and I intend to tell her what for,”

Chapter Text

It’s genuinely nice to stay at the trailer. He doesn’t come here as often as Eddie comes to his house just by nature of the fact that Wayne’s work schedule doesn’t permit visitors very often. The Munsons have government payoff money in their pockets now just like the rest of the party, but neither of them has ever been very accepting of handouts. A solid chunk of the money went toward a new trailer, and the few necessities they’d had to replace– including a new guitar for Eddie, while the rest sits at the bank gaining traction as Hawkins’ largest rainy day fund. Wayne keeps busy splitting his time working at the plant and helping construction crews repave the cracked roads.

Eddie hasn’t found anywhere that will hire him, but he hasn’t stopped looking. Every Sunday he sits down with one of the party members and a newspaper, circling advertisements and calling whoever he can. He’s had one interview, but it didn’t go further than that. It’s inspiring to see him never give up hope, even though Eddie would hate that Steve calls it hope. He likes to say he’s just a stubborn bastard who isn’t going to let this shithole town have the last laugh. At least Nancy and Joyce had been able to strongarm Owens into smoothing over the end of Eddie’s high school career. He’d laughed so hard through his disbelief that the nurses had to come back just to redo half of his stitches, and they’d helped wheel him across the stage a week later.

Hawkins, as per usual, had been quick to adapt and overlook the changes in their little town. It was interesting to see how weird things could get before Hawkins stopped turning a blind eye– so far, they hadn’t found that limit. As years go by, adaptation becomes easier, and four years of this make Steve and some of the others relative pros. While some of their small party have been doing portal field trips with the munchkins, others are helping around town in other ways. Robin and the Sinclairs, have been working at the school when the siblings aren’t at the hospital with Max or Robin isn’t at work. Since the school year has finished, the cafeteria and gymnasium have been co-opted by the mayor to serve food and help those displaced by the earthquakes.

It’s never really been clear how much Wayne actually knows about everything that’s happened. Steve’s reasonably sure that Eddie wouldn’t keep anything from his uncle– NDAs be damned– but Wayne may as well have signed an NDA of his own with how little he talks about it. They don’t have to be geniuses though, to see how much it helps Eddie to see Wayne helping around town just like the rest of their group, as though they think he needs to fix a certain quota of roads before he can be accepted into their little family. Wayne’s tired from all the work, and Joyce has been talking to him for weeks to cut back on mixing cement and just come over for dinner for god’s sake.

Eddie and Wayne are doing their damnedest to pretend they aren’t watching Steve intently. He can hear them arguing behind him about the cup of water Wayne’s been shoving toward his nephew. The Munson’s landline is plugged into an outlet by Wayne’s recliner and has a beat-up ring-bound notebook beside it with a handful of pens. The pages are covered in snippets of information like phone numbers and dates as well as a million tiny scribbles and drawings were obviously done by Eddie. His fingers twitch as he idly fiddles with everything close to him– folding over the corners of the notepad, and smoothing his fingers over his Aunt’s letter.

He truly had no idea why he is so nervous. He’s excited, sure, but he hasn’t seen the women in just over a decade. Maybe the nerves come from the fear of things changing, or maybe he’s worried he won’t recognize them– or vice versa. His fingers anxiously twirl the phone cord, twisting it into an intricate knot he’ll have to apologize for later.

“Doing okay over there, sweetheart?” Eddie calls over. Wayne snorts at the pet name and Eddie smacks him lightly on the shoulder.

“Yup,” Steve calls back. He takes a deep breath and punches in the number before he can talk himself out of it. The line rings and rings and the men behind him are leaning ever so slightly toward Steve as though they’ll be able to hear the phone from their seats across the room. Instead of fiddling with the notepad any more than he already has, Steve brings his hand up to press his nails to the skin of his wrist. He hears Eddie make a small hissing sound behind him, but without the pressure, his hands will shake and that will just be even more embarrassing. 

Talking on the phone has been a bit more hit or miss ever since the ringing in his ears started up a couple years ago. It isn’t that he can’t hear people on the other line, but sometimes, especially on bad days, if he holds the receiver on his left instead of his right, it becomes a lot harder to pick out people’s words. It’s a bit like his dyslexia– the people on the other line say comprehensible sentences, but his brain somehow swaps letters and words around. All this to say, the phone is cradled purposefully to his right ear, and he’s holding his breath in an attempt to alleviate even the slight ringing when there’s a click on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice filters down the line picked up loud and clear by Steve’s eardrums. Her voice is dark and deeper than is traditional. There’s a crackle in her vocal cords that can only come from years of cigarette smoke. Steve’s eyes widen. It’s familiar– He remembers hearing this voice in formative memories as a child. This voice greets him outside of one of the safest spaces he knows– It laughs behind him in the mirror– It stands beside a familiar woman at an art gallery. Steve hears himself squeak out a high-pitched sound that can’t even be classified as a word, and then he slams the handset down.

“Whoa!” Eddie yelps, immediately running over to the armchair to kneel at Steve’s feet. The chair he was sitting in clatters backward onto the ground, Wayne not even trying to stop its downfall. Eddie clasps his hands over Steve’s knees, making Steve belatedly register the fact that he’s not wearing his rings, “What happened there, man?”

Steve still has a white knuckle grip on the handset with the fingers of his free hand pressed tightly against his lips. “She answered the phone,” He says. The waver from his hands is surprisingly not evident in his voice. It takes a second for him to remember to take a deep breath and, like, blink.

“...Was that not the goal?” Eddie asks, confused.

“Well, uh,” Steve blinks again, feeling incredibly stupid. What the fuck was that? The voice of his mother itches at the back of his brain It’s always something with you, isn’t it. “I think I freaked out.”

“I think so, yeah,” Eddie says gently, “How are you doing now? I know you want to talk to them. Think you can give it another go?”

“Oh my god, I just fucking made a sound at her and hung up, Eddie,” Steve groans, burying his face in his hands. Eddie laughs lightly, bringing his hands from Steve’s knees up to pry his hands from his face.

“You kind of did,” Eddie’s teasing grin comes into view once his hands are taken from his eyes. It’s a nice sight, all things considered.

“You should call instead,” Steve says, mostly joking, but also considering running off the face of the earth to avoid embarrassing himself more.

“Baby,” Eddie levels him with a look, “I have no fucking clue who these ladies are,”

“ God, I know, okay,” Steve shakes his hands out of Eddie’s grip to slap his cheeks, “Okay! Here goes,” He shakes his hands out like Robin does sometimes, and quickly dials the number again. This time the phone is picked up nearly immediately.

“...If this is another prank call, you might want to try a new number. You already tried this one once,” The voice is different this time– flat, but warm in a teasing way. He knows this one too and the familiarity paired with the warmth of Eddie’s hands on his legs makes him relax back into the chair. Just to have something to do with his hands, he starts detangling the mess he’s made of the phone cord. It’s only when Eddie squeezed his thighs that he realizes he’s been quiet for too long basking in the nostalgia the voice brings.

“Uh, hi,” He starts, cringing at the rasp in his voice. He clears his throat against an inevitable voice crack, “Yeah, sorry, that last call was me,”

“Well, alright! Thanks for calling back, I suppose what I was missing was the closure,” He can almost picture the two of them sitting together making faces at him on the other end of the line. She doesn’t sound that different. Oh god, she sounds just like she did the last time he saw her, “Can I ask who it is I’m speaking to this time before you hang up again?”

“Oh, wow, I forgot to introduce myself too. You’d think this is my first time making a phone call,” The smile that’s making its way onto his face is contagious if the slight quirk on Eddie’s lips is anything to go by.

“A-Ok, buddy, we can’t all be gifted in every walk of life,” Her laugh is light and airy, god it’s so nice to talk to her again, “Are you going to answer the question, though?”

“Can I give you a hint?”

“This call just keeps getting more and more interesting. Alright, mystery caller, hit me with it,” Her voice is a little tinny like she’s moved away from the receiver slightly. They’re sharing the phone. He smiles fully and tries to hide it behind his palm.

“Hi, Auntie,” The ball of happiness trapped in his throat makes the words come out so quietly he thinks they won’t crackle down the line well enough for them to hear. A moment of silence stretches out just on the wrong side of awkward before he hears the first voice burst out laughing.

“For god’s sake, Anna, pick your jaw up off the floor and say hello to our nephew,” Susan’s rich voice rings out as she laughs around the words. His brain catches. Our nephew . Oh, that’s nice. His cheeks are starting to hurt from how wide his smile is so he takes some reprieve by leaning forward to rest his forehead against Eddie’s as though the mere touch of the other man will remedy all of his problems. And, hell, it’s worth a try.

“ Steve? ” Anna’s voice is quieter than it was before, no longer teasing but not lacking in mirth. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hi,” He says again and closes his eyes like cutting off one sense will sharpen the quality of another. Eddie’s bangs tickle his forehead.

“Hi,” Anna hiccups, “Oh god, sorry, I’ve been thinking of this for years and now when we finally talk I’m a mess. Ah! Talk to your aunt, give me a second here,” There’s a clatter as the phone is shoved abruptly into the still laughing hands of Susan.

“Hi, kiddo. It’s obvious to say now, but we got your letter. How are you doing?” Susan says down the line and Steve can picture the way her eyes used to crinkle at the edges any time she smiled. 

“I’m good. I think I’m having a bit of a moment over here too,” He laughs wetly, “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard from you guys,”

“We’ve missed you,” Susan says, and it’s obvious because Steve can hear it all in their voices but it feels so nice to hear. Ten years of being left alone to field phone calls from his parents on important holidays, and no one’s ever said the words to him before.

“I’ve missed you too. Man, I am so glad I sent that letter,” Eddie’s hands come up to wipe a couple of stray tears off of his cheeks.

“We are too! To what do we owe our gratitude? What got you in a writing mood, to begin with?”

“I had to get my eyes tested and the eyedrops the doctor put in my eyes made everything look like Auntie’s paintings. With the glaze, y’know how things kind of bleed together?” He laughs again, grateful that he’s talking to Susan about it because Anna would definitely take that as an insult.

“Got your eyes tested, didja? Finally taking after Anna’s side of the family?”

“Huh?” Steve blinks his eyes open, perking up slightly in confusion.

“Well, I guess just Anna really. I don’t remember her brother ever having bad vision,” And suddenly here Steve is feeling the same way he used to at seven years old staring into the mirror and smoothing over his face, hoping he'd grow up to look like Anna Harrington.

“Auntie wears…?”

“Oh god, yeah. Blind as a bat without them. She must’ve still been in her contacts phase before… well,” Susan explains. Steve blinks owlishly behind his own frames. “She’s composed herself. I’m gonna hand the phone back over, but it’s good talking to you, Stevie. I’m still right here–” Her voice gets quieter and quieter as the phone gets farther from her face.

“Hi, baby, sorry about that,” His aunt smiles down the line.

“Hi, again,” Steve says, and Eddie has the softest look on his face where he’s sitting at Steve’s feet. It’s such a comfortable position that Steve brings his shoulder up to hold the phone in place, and reaches forward to start playing with Eddie’s hair instead of the telephone cord. Eddie’s hands sneak up to snag the notepad and a pen– doodling to have something to do with his own hands seeing as he’s not wearing his rings, “I just got your letter yesterday, but I don’t think it was possible for me to put off calling any more than that,”

“And I’m glad for it! I’ve been jumping nearly on top of the phone every time it rings. Sue’s been threatening to unplug the damn thing. I mean, I sent the letter a while ago.”

The conversation is easy, and he can't stop smiling for any of it, even when they talk about how he hasn't seen his parents in seven months. Eddie makes a sound at that which is echoed by Wayne, who's joined them in the TV room, listening in on the conversation from the other couch. 

“Seven months? Christ, kid,” Wayne mumbles.

“Wasn’t that right after the mall fire?” Eddie grimaces, exchanging a look with his Uncle. The sentiment is echoed by a frustrated sound over the phone that his ears can’t quite place.

“That motherf– I knew Susan and I should’ve followed through on our threat to just take you. We could’ve gotten away with it if we were sneaky,”

“They wouldn’t have noticed if you had. At least not for a couple of months,” Steve laughs, aware that the situation is a bit more serious than he’s making it but too happy to pretend to be upset, “‘Sides, I wouldn’t have met the party if I had left,” While they talk, Steve untangles the braid from the night before and tosses the elastic gently onto the coffee table with the others. Eddie's chin is resting on Steve’s knees as he sits cross-legged on the floor in front of him, relaxing with Steve's fingers in his hair. It all feels incredibly safe.

"Oh, I should probably stop hogging Eddie's line," He says, only just realizing how long he's been on the phone.

"Oh, Eddie, huh?" Aunt Anna laughs down the line, making his face heat up in record time, "This the same Eddie you wrote about in your first letter?"

"One and the same," Steve replies, embarrassment evident in his voice. Eddie tilts his head up from where he'd buried it against Steve's legs, notepad long since discarded beside him. He’s doodled an entire page of the Hellfire logo interspersed with small shapes and dice. 

"Now, do you need to be handing the phone over to this Eddie so I can do my best shovel talk? I'm sure Susan would love for me to pass her the phone,” There’s a mischievous note in her voice that reminds him of being a child, hiding behind doorways with his Aunt in an attempt to spook Susan.

“No, no shovel talk needed,” Steve tries to avert his gaze from Eddie’s grinning face and can’t help himself from thinking that he’s going to get along so well with the women. Although, he does remember sitting at the table not too long ago with Wayne and well… “Or maybe I’ll let you do that in person next week when we see each other,” He sticks his tongue out at Eddie, who rolls his eyes back.

“I can’t believe I’m going to see you again! We can’t wait to see how you’ve grown up, baby! I should let you go, though, you’re right. I’ve got a kiln I need to sort through before I forget about it.”

“Before you hang up, can you put Susan on the phone?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Nothing. Eddie’s Uncle wants to talk to her though,”

“Eddie’s Uncle?”

“Yeah, Wayne Munson?”

“ The Wayne Munson!? Oh, this’ll be good,” Anna takes the receiver away from her ear to call out to her partner, “Susan, get yourself back in here, darling, your kid’s dating the Munson boy!”

He startles both of the Munsons by bursting out laughing as Susan’s tinny voice swears on the other end of the line.

“Steven, could you have dated any other boy? Preferably one whose Uncle I don’t owe forty bucks and at least 2 letters?” Steve’s still laughing as he stands up to beckon Wayne over.

“Well, well, well, Susan Carmichael in the flesh,” Wayne drawls, exaggerating his accent with a gleam in his eye, “If I didn’t know any better I’d think I hadn’t heard from you in half a dozen years. What, didja forget how to pick up a pen?”

Eddie and Steve tiptoe back to Eddie’s room, trying to stifle their giggles so they don’t interrupt the adult’s reconnection. The adrenaline and joy coursing through his bloodstream coalesce in his fingertips leaving them trembling slightly as he reaches out to pull Eddie close. He can feel Eddie’s smile against his neck when the other man leans them back slightly to push his door closed. They stand there for a moment in trembling silence just holding each other.

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours?” Eddie says, fingers running whispered lines up and down Steve’s spine.

“They sound just like they did ten years ago,” Steve smiles around the words, cheeks aching and eyes misty. “Well, Susan’s obviously been smoking, but basically the same. It was so nice to hear their voices. I didn’t know how much I missed them until we started talking,”

“Glad to hear it, baby,” Eddie murmurs into a trail of kisses across Steve’s cheek and nose, “I’m excited to meet them,”

“Susan owes your Uncle money,”

“Oh my god, really? He’s never gonna live that down now that she has our number,”

“I can’t believe they know each other,”

“What are the odds,” Eddie replies, voice distracted. His eyes are trained on Steve’s smiling mouth, “Can I kiss you?”

“I think you have been already,” Steve teases, moving them around so that they’re swaying in the middle of the room, arms still wrapped tightly around each other.

“You know what I mean,” He says, but leans forward instead to start sucking kisses into the length of Steve’s neck, one hand coming up to gently tug his hair back. He can’t help the gasps that leak out of him as Eddie makes his way down Steve’s throat. His teeth nip at Steve’s collarbone, dragging a muffled sound out of Steve.

“Eds,” He breathes, and apparently Eddie’s gotten exactly what he’s wanted because the big toothy grin has diminished enough for Eddie to kiss his way back up to Steve’s mouth. 

“What is it, baby?” Eddie kisses him like he’s trying to steal the oxygen from Steve’s lungs and succeeding.

“I–” Steve starts only to be cut off by Eddie’s tongue against his teeth.

“I want you to wear my clothes this time,” Eddie leans back just far enough to say, “Not that I don’t love your cute little business casual get-up or anything, but I think I want to shake things up a bit. It’s our go with the kiddos today, right?” Steve nods dumbly, feeling a bit like a bobble head and not quite sure which question he’s responding to. 

“You drive me crazy,” He settles on instead.

“Good crazy, I hope?” Eddie hums against the hinge of his jaw.

“Only the best,”

Wayne gives the two of them a once over when they finally leave Eddie’s room, which is fair seeing as Steve’s unsuccessfully trying to hide a host of marks on his neck with one of Eddie’s bandanas, and Eddie’s hair looks extremely ruffled. There’s a distinct difference between them, though, in that Steve’s face is bright red and Eddie simply looks like the cat who got the cream. It must be Wayne’s day off because he’s since hung up the phone and is sitting in his recliner to watch a ball game instead of packing lunch into a paper bag for work. The pair mention that they’re taking the kids out to close some portals and should be back later, but Wayne just waves them off and tells them to have fun.

The drive from Forest Hills to the cabin is longer than it is from Loch Nora. The scenery is much of the same, but El and Eddie couldn’t live farther apart. They stop for gas and snacks from the grocery store, finding someone besides Joyce working for once. Good. She deserves some time to put her feet up. Just because he’s in a good mood, Steve grabs a small foil-wrapped bouquet of flowers to give Joyce when they get to the cabin later. Eddie pokes him in the side over and over teasing him for being a flatterer. It’s fairly easy to shut him up when he adds a second bouquet of flowers to the till and presents them to the other boy when they get out to the car.

“I don’t even own a vase,” Eddie says, voice all high and embarrassed in a ridiculously cute way. Steve kisses the boy on the back of the hand, eyes crinkling in a smile instead of responding.

Eddie talks animatedly on the drive over, free-feeding Steve a neverending supply of fun facts about every song on the Iron Maiden cassette he’s got playing. For once, he’s not driving while touching Steve in some way, but Steve doesn’t mind given that he gets to watch Eddie’s hands gesture wildly through the air as he talks. It’s like he’ll forget how to form sentences if he stops moving. He knows he’s making the kind of fond expression that would earn him a lifetime of teasing from Robin for ‘going soft’. Eddie only glances over at him a few times, keeping his eyes on the road for once, focusing on the shortcut he has from his place to the cabin. It’s not so much a shortcut as it is skirting around the outskirts of Hawkins on the highway, but Steve doesn’t mind.

“You’re pretty,” Steve presses the words against the skin of Eddie’s wrist in a brief moment of silence between songs. It’s like watching Eddie short circuit, face turning red and jaw hanging open like a fish. Steve laughs lightly.

“Says you,” Eddie finally gets out.

They pull up to the Hopper-Byer’s cabin to find Joyce standing out front, leaning against the porch railing. She waves at them with the hand that holds her cigarette, eyebrows raised as though seeing them is a pleasant surprise instead of a routine. Smoke from her cigarette twists upward, swirling toward the wooden awning. The house is still quiet behind her– a stark contrast from the last time he’d pulled up for dinner. There’s an open newspaper separated into parts and hanging on the railing beside her arm.

It’s not even that early in the morning, but it’s a good day any time party members sleep in later than eight in the morning. Steve knows that his version of ‘morning person’ is shared by Robin, Joyce, and a handful of the kids, including the Sinclairs. Where traditionally, a morning person might wake up with the sunrise, the body clocks of half the party kick into wakefulness closer to four or five in the morning– if they get any sleep at all.

“Hi, boys,” She greets them warmly when they get within walking distance of her. She leans forward to fix a flyaway in Eddie’s hair and kisses them both on the cheeks, “You’re here early.”

“Against all odds, this guy’s turning me into an early bird,” Eddie sticks his tongue out at Steve like the pinnacle of maturity he is. A flash of shame crawls its way through his brain at the idea that he’s been waking Eddie up, but the feeling is swiftly soothed by Joyce’s cool fingers tucking his hair behind his ears.

“We brought you something,” Steve says, pulling the bouquet of flowers from behind his back. Joyce coos at them, stubbing out her cigarette so that she doesn’t light them on fire with the ferocity of the hug she pulls them in for. With one arm wrapped around Eddie’s waist and the other holding the flowers out so they don’t get crushed, all he can do is bury his face in the short woman’s hair. She smells like smoke and it’s so distinctly warm that he can’t help but breathe it in. When they break apart, she leads them inside, handing Steve one of the sectionals from the paper and pulling Eddie off into the kitchen to help prepare breakfast.

The house wakes up slowly, filtering out of their rooms down the hall as Steve sits on the couch curled up, reading the sports news. Argyle wakes up first, probably smelling some combination of smoke and breakfast food that reminds him of the munchies by proxy. He’s bleary-eyed and barely even looks conscious when he joins Steve on the couch. It’s nearly ten in the morning, but Joyce says that for once, everyone has the weekend off, so they’re milking it for all it’s worth. Argyle throws his full weight against Steve’s side and nearly falls back asleep like that, holding Steve like a life-sized human teddy bear.

“You’ve got something right here,” When Argyle finally wakes up enough to speak, he does so through a yawn. One of his hands releases Steve just in time for him to flip the paper over to read the other side. It’s still a wonder to him that he can read the small print– the words still wiggle around and often don’t make sense, but he can see the words, which is a miracle in itself. Argyle pokes him on the neck, his words only filtering in through the ringing in Steve’s ears once his nail makes contact with what is definitely a hickey.

“Uh,”

“Cool that you guys figured it out,” Argyle’s smile is a lazy thing, “Hope he doesn’t mind the cuddles, man. You’re just a very squishable guy.”

“As long as the hands stay where I can see ‘em” Eddie jokes from the doorway where he’s come to check on them. “Morning, dude,”

“‘Sup, man,” Argyle acknowledges him with a smile and a tilt of his head. “You’re the source of that delicious aroma I smell, then?”

“Joyce and I are doing breakfast, yeah.” Eddie laughs, “Shouldn’t leave her alone in there for too long. She’s been eyeing the cayenne a bit too strongly for us to be making pancakes. She might think it’s cinnamon. We should get one of those fucking, uh, label makers or whatever for her,”

“Ooh, spicing it up. I like it.” Argyle yawns, burying his face in Steve’s shoulder instead of covering his mouth. “My man and I are reading about footballs, I think.” Steve quirks a smile.

“Well, that’s a fair bit out of my wheelhouse, so I’ll leave you to it.”

When El comes in, she settles herself at Steve’s feet, her own newspaper sectional clutched in her hands– the cartoons. This one seems to interest Argyle a bit more than reading about baseball, so he slides down to join El on the floor instead. He’s careful not to touch her, knowing that she’s not the most touchy person, but she tilts the paper slightly so he can read from where he’s parked himself beside her. Her shoulders are nestled between Steve’s knees, and he crushes down the urge to ruffle her short hair. Mornings are quiet for El. When they’ve finished reading through the cartoons, she holds the page above her head toward Steve.

“Do you want it?” She asks.

“I’m alright, thanks though. This was more than enough reading for me, I think.” He takes the cartoons from her to fold them up with his own section as El flicks the TV on with her mind. He massages his temples lightly staving off the dull ache that comes from reading. He’s found that focusing usually comes with consequences, whether that’s a headache, brain fog, or even a new swarm of buzzing in his ears that takes longer to tamp down than usual.

Jonathan walks straight into the kitchen to help cook as soon as he wakes up. He and Argyle have been sharing his room, so he’s probably been awake for a bit if Argyle was the first one up. The circles under his eyes are as pronounced as usual, but it’s almost more of a Byers trait than a sign that he hasn’t been sleeping. Jonathan starts laughing immediately upon seeing Eddie and comes to poke his head into the living room to wiggle his eyebrows at Steve.

“Congrats,” He grins and Steve flips him off. His relationship with Jonathan is one of the things that has made all this Upside Down shit worth it. It’s almost like having a brother for once. A few months after Steve had recovered from his Billy-Hargrove-concussion the two of them had sat down for a very very long partially intoxicated talk. Things weren’t immediately better after that, and in some moments that lingering awkwardness was still obvious, but it was better. It was nice to air all of their shit for once to someone who wasn’t a romantic partner, a child, or blood-related. Turns out that when things are left to fester, they can kind of fuck things up a little. Who knew?

Hopper is the last to wake up, but Joyce brings him his breakfast in bed instead of having him join them at the table. Apparently, his ankle has been acting up and Joyce has decided to take the time off to pamper him into recovery. When she comes back to the table she’s got a very sweet flush on the apples of her cheeks. He’s happy for them, honestly, the two of them deserve something nice after all of this. They all sit around the kitchen table passing around maple syrup and margarine. 

Will levels him and Eddie with a very obvious look halfway through breakfast that makes his ears buzz. Jesus, they aren’t even doing anything, but they must be obvious if literally everyone has picked up on them. He quirks his eyebrow at Will, who smiles back at him, a question in his eyes. Steve looks over at Eddie, finding a drip of syrup on the man’s cheek. 

He nudges his shoulder against Eddie’s, not quite drawing his attention from the conversation he’s having with John and Argyle about Videodrome . His eyes lag behind the rest of his face when he turns to face Steve, still obviously listening to Argyle. Steve taps his own cheek to mirror where the syrup is on Eddie’s. Without even thinking of it, Eddie leans over to kiss Steve on the cheek and turns back to his previous conversation, only startling out of it when Steve laughs.

“As cute as that was, I was actually– No, I’ll get it,” He feels like he’s giggling like a schoolgirl as he wets his napkin on his tongue and brings it up to scrub the syrup on Eddie’s cheek.

“Dude,” Argyle and Jonathan laugh good-naturedly. Joyce is hiding her smile behind her mug. The bouquet of flowers behind her on the counter makes a pretty halo behind her head. “That was the sweetest shit I’ve ever seen,”

“See, this is why you’re the mom,” Eddie grins, leaning into his space to kiss Steve on the tip of his nose too. The smile that lights up Will’s face is worth it as he watches the two of them.

Joyce and him clear the table and wash the dishes despite Steve’s insistence that she shouldn’t have to clear the table after making breakfast too. She swears up and down that Eddie basically made the whole thing. She scrunches up her nose in a smile as she says ‘my house, my rules!’ and it’s like looking into a window and seeing a glimpse of how she was at his age. Joyce washes while he dries. It’s one of those domestic things that he doesn’t remember being quite so pleasant with his own family if they ever even happened at all. 

“Are you getting enough sleep lately?” She asks finally after a lull in the conversation. They’d been chatting idly about how things have been in the town. Joyce has been volunteering at the hospital every couple weeks whenever she has a free moment, and apparently, it’s been the place to be if there one was looking for town gossip. Not even a ground-splitting earthquake could deter the Hawkins busybodies. Steve and Joyce are decidedly not a part of this group, but there is a certain joy that comes with gossiping about whether Dr. Harrsion and Jackie Finnegan were going to finally bite the bullet and get together. It feels so painfully normal.

“Enough,” He smiles in response, “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Eddie and Robin. The sleepovers with El were good too. What about you? Are you sleeping enough?”

“Enough,” She agrees with a nod. This urge they share to make absolute one hundred percent sure that all of their people are taken care of can be a bit of a detriment to a healthy sleep schedule, but they understand each other. He’d never have guessed five years ago that he’d be spending his early twenties swapping sleep hacks over dirty dishes with Joyce Byers, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. “Thanks again for having El over.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure. You know I love those kids.”

“Yes, I know. I think ‘mama Steve’ suits you,” She laughs and pokes him in the arm with a wet soapy finger. “We should start a neighbourhood watch or something with Claudia, Karen, and Rhonda. Something, something, mom squad.” Her fingers dance through the air in thought, dripping trails of soap onto the counter. Steve laughs, eyes scrunching closed as she bumps their shoulders– Or rather, her shoulder bumps against his bicep. He always forgets how small she is.

The pair of them finish putting the dishes away and find themselves standing in the open doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Eddie and Argyle and standing in front of the Hopper-Byers kids, arms swung out like they’re performing something. Jonathan has his camera pointed at the two of them, snapping pictures as they tell whatever story they’re working through. It takes a moment for him to place their performance as a dramatic retelling of Crocodile Dundee which Eddie only breaks character to wave at them in the doorway. Joyce wraps her arm around Steve and squeezes him to her side. She has to stand on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“I’m happy for you two, Mama,” She says with a fond tone to her voice. The tips of his ears warm up. Hearing it from Joyce feels so important somehow. It clicks something into place deep within him that allows him to lean down slightly to rest his head on top of hers. His arms hug tightly around his centre doing his best to not jostle Joyce’s arm.

“Thanks, mom,” He whispers, and he means every bit of it.

Chapter Text

Will sits the two of them down on the porch before they leave. El has run back inside for a third time to change her shoes because apparently none of them fit right today, but none of them mind waiting a few extra minutes for her. It’s a little hot to be wearing Eddie’s bandana, but the thought of taking it off and showing off the marks on his neck makes him feel just as warm somehow. Will is pacing in front of them on the dirt while Steve sits on the porch steps like he did with Jonathan last time he was here. Eddie has climbed up to perch on the railing like some tall curly-haired gargoyle. It’s taking nearly all of Steve’s brain power to ignore the way the wood creaks underneath Eddie’s heavy boots.

Will places like a metronome, kicking up small bits of gravel with the toes of his beat-up sneakers. The back and forth combined with the soft breeze that rustles the trees far over their heads makes it hard to focus over the ringing in his ears. The part of his brain that likes to shut off and float away has been threatening to kick in ever since he sat down on the porch and it's getting harder to ignore without anything to focus on. Finally, Will opens his mouth to speak only to be immediately cut off by the jarring ring of the phone inside. Jonathan pokes his head out the door, phone muffled against his collarbone.

"Dustin's on the phone. He’s wondering if he can come with you all to do portal stuff today?" Jonathan's sandy hair flops to the side as he tilts his head.

"I think that's a question for supergirl," Eddie says. There’s another startlingly loud creak from underneath him as he twists himself around to address Jonathan. Unthinking, Steve feels himself lurch over to grab onto the banister as though he can stop it from potentially breaking by sheer force of will.

"Thought she was out here with you guys. Uh…," Jonathan leans inside and shouts the question back into the house. El calls back an affirmative, following it up with a promise to the outside crew that she's almost ready this time for real, which makes Will laugh. When the phone is back on the hook Jonathan pokes out again to look at Will. "Everything okay out here?"

"Yeah, um," Will's voice is breathy like he's going to faint. It's alarming enough that Jonathan rushed outside to pull his brother in for a hug while his eyebrows climb up to hide behind his bangs. He huddles his brother into his arms and casts a look at Eddie and Steve that falls somewhere between helpless and accusatory. Steve shrugs, mostly confused by what’s happening and trying really hard to stop Eddie from falling face-first in the gravel.

"Hey, hey man what's wrong?" John asks, voice going soft as he runs his palms soothingly up and down Will's back.

"It's not wrong," Will says almost petulantly, tone negated by the wet sniff that follows the sentence. Steve glances up in time to see Eddie's eyes widen.

"Okay," Jonathan draws out the word. He pulls his brother back to search his face. And, god, isn't that a sight? When did Will get to be the same height as his brother? "What's happening then?"

"I like boys," Will blurts out and follows it up by slapping both of his hands over his mouth.

"I know this," Jonathan says slowly, eyes looking over cautiously in the direction of the other boys. There's a silent question on his face that Will reads and makes a small hand wave motion with his hand.

"Steve knows too," Will says so quietly that Steve can hardly hear it. Eddie seems to hear what he says just fine, however, because he slips off the banister to join the brothers' hug.

"Good, kid! Nothing wrong with that at all, bud," 

"Obviously," Will scoffs with misty eyes, "I'd be worried for Steve if you didn't think that and still went around kissing him." Steve laughs out loud, trying to muffle the sound as much as he can behind his knuckles.

"The cheek on this kid," Eddie says, mystified, casting an amused look in Steve's direction. "Well, friend mage, what pray tell is causing you this grievance then?"

"No grievance. Not really. I'm practicing," Will says. A pine cone drops from a tree overhead, startling Steve enough to jump to his feet. Eddie checks in with a glance. "Jonathan and Steve know it, and you seem like the next safest to tell? Mom and Hopper know too, I guess, but I think they just figured it out." Eddie blinks at Will for a moment and then bends his knees just a tiny bit to make eye contact.

"I'm proud of you, bud." It's a nice moment. The Byers boys both look happy, but Steve can't look away from Eddie's face. He pushes his frames up on his face and smiles. Eddie's entire being is carefree and it makes him look so handsome. The performance with Argyle has left the hair at the back of his neck curly with sweat, and his bangs have been pinned up with some shiny bobby pins from El's longer hair days. His eyes are bright with emotion as he talks to Will. There's a scrape just under his jaw from shaving that Steve desperately wants to touch. Even from this distance, Steve can see the halo of light hair on Eddie's arms. 

"What have I missed?" El whispers from directly behind Steve's shoulder. He jumps with a yelp, shooting a glare to rival El's mischievous grin. She's changed her whole outfit for a third time, this time wearing a mishmash of clothes from other people's wardrobes with none of her own. On her feet are a pair of Will's socks paired with a chunky pair of sandals that are obviously Joyce's. 

"I like boys," Will shouts over to her, face giddy and obviously safe in the circle of the other men's arms.

"Oh, me too," El replied, copying his smile. The younger boy barks out a laugh.

"No, I like boys how you do. Neither of us likes girls and both of us like boys even though boys usually just like girls,"

"I don't like girls?" El tilts her head.

"Gah, this is hard to explain. I mean you don't want to kiss girls, right?"

"Yes, I do," El says simply. Steve's glad he's looking at the boys because the way all three of their eyes bug out is hilarious beyond belief. "I like both boys and girls. You only like one?"

"Some people only like one, kiddo, but yours is good too," Steve says, "You're like me," 

"Bitchin'," El grins, all teeth. It makes Steve feel soft to be able to categorize El's expressions. When they catch her in her emotions, the pure kind that don't have her seeking others out to mirror their faces, her expressions get so raw. It's one of those moments that Steve loves where her smile looks more like a threat– like she's baring as many teeth as possible and squinting her eyes nearly shut. Steve gives in to his impulse to ruffle her hair.

"Now, let's rock and roll. We've gotta go get Dustin still before heading off to the library," 

Will kicks Steve out of his own passenger seat so that he and Eddie can ramble at each other about the monster from last week's D&D session. El makes him sit in the middle seat and pulls at his shoulders till he's all but squishing her against the door. She holds one of his hands in both of her own, playing with his fingers just for something to do with her hands. The conversation lulls at one point as both the boys seem to be struggling to remember the name of some character– which is hilarious in itself because Eddie made the guy. He stretches away from El for a moment to tap twice on the centre console, shooting Eddie a glance through the rearview. There's a small noise of recognition when Eddie catches his drift.

"Shall we consult the all-knowing D&Diary, young William?" Eddie says theatrically, popping the top to show off the simple black notebook inside.

"Don't call it that," Steve says fruitlessly from the back.

"What's this?"

"How many times am I going to have to explain this?" Steve sighs, a little too much irritation flooding his tone.

"Sorry, I was just asking…" Will says, voice quiet. Eddie shoots him a glare in the mirror, but it isn't necessary because Steve's already hopped away from El again to comfort Will.

"Oh no, no! I didn't mean it like that, bud, sorry. It's just a little embarrassing. That's my important things notebook. You can read it if you want. Sorry, for the tone,"

"Stop moving away," El pouts, "I want to be squished,"

"Okay, okay, okay," Steve relents, moving back to his place beside El.

"I can read it? Are you sure? I don't want to invade your privacy,"

"Nah, go ahead. I've already been teased relentlessly for it. 'Sides it's all about you guys anyways,"

Dustin lives a few blocks away from the Sinclairs, equidistant between Robin's and Steve's. The route is etched permanently into Steve's hindbrain even more so than the way to Robin's. There's been many a night spent on the Henderson's couch, huddled underneath hand-knitted afghans nursing mugs of honey and chamomile. Claudia, more days than usual, seems to be under the impression his name's actually Steve Henderson. It's endearing even though it feels different than his relationship with Joyce. 

The radio has been turned off while Will reads out random pages from his notebook. Sitting in the front doesn't bother him so much, but from the back with the speakers set in the dashboard and Will and Eddie's voices muffled as they face forward, the sounds become unintelligible. Crackling radiowaves mingle with Will's voice reading out familiar words that come across like he's speaking a different language until suddenly the radio clicks off. Eddie's eyes meet his from up front again, one eyebrow raised like he's checking in. One ringed finger taps his temple as he cocks his head to the side. Steve shakes his head and points at his ears with a wince. Eddie's brow furrows slightly, but Steve's attention has already turned back to Will who's in the process of reading a mundane to-do list out loud.

He's not sure why the kid's face looks so happy about it. It's not like his notebook is especially interesting save for the sporadic entries on their D&D games, but Will is reading Steve's chicken scratch like it's valuable in some way. He seems excited about the "Will page" and his recount of El's page makes her titter happily even though it just lists some of the likes and dislikes he's noticed alongside important medical information.

The kids run up to Dustin's door to get him while Eddie and Steve wait in the car. Steve leans forward over the centre console, resting his head on his arms to stare up at Eddie. The early afternoon light looks so pretty on his cheekbones.

"Hi," Steve smiles.

"Hi, handsome," Eddie replies easily as though Steve can't feel his insides absolutely liquefying at the sound of his voice. 

"Who, me?" Steve asks, affecting the slightly goofy tone he saves for making the kids laugh.

"Yes, you," Eddie kisses him on the forehead, "the handsomest,"

"Stop! You're going to give me a complex,"

"As if your head could get any bigger," Eddie jokes, but he leans down to kiss him properly anyway. When he pulls up for air, his eyes are soft. "How are you doing, baby?"

"Good. Very good." Steve smiles.

"Were your ears hurting earlier?" The rings on Eddie's right hand catch deliciously in his hair.

"Oh, no, not hurting. I just couldn't hear Will over the radio."

"Too loud?" Eddie presses his forehead to Steve's. It has to be an uncomfortable position with how much he has to Crane down to do it, but the pressure feels nice.

"No, the volume was alright. I just couldn't hear it all. The sounds were happening together from the same part of the car and I couldn't tell them apart,"

"Is that a new one?"

"Comes with the ringing, I think. I don't think it's anything actually to do with my hearing. Just another part of the stupid brain scramble I have going on."

"Hey, I don't think your brain scramble is stupid," Steve can hear the frown in his voice more than he can see it given how close their faces are.

"That makes one of us," Steve grins, intending it to come across as a joke but missing by ten miles. The frames of his glasses are being squashed into the bridge of his nose by Eddie's face. He leans up to kiss him so that he doesn't have to hear the disapproving noise Eddie makes. “The kids seemed excited about the notebook.”

“They aren’t the only ones.”

“It’s just a notebook. I really don’t understand the hype around it,” Steve laughs, breath puffing into the sliver of space between their mouths.

“Probably because it feels nice to be noticed, Stevie,” Eddie’s voice is warm enough that Steve doesn’t mourn the loss when he straightens back up into the driver’s seat. The Hendersons’s front door is wide open, forgotten by the kids as they ran into the house. “It’s good to be cared about and noticed like you notice people. You’re one of the most… How do I say this… You’re so earnest, that it hurts. You care about people so much that you carry them with you everywhere. All this information that you consider important? Shit– I don’t even think Wayne knows some of the shit you’ve got in here. You make me feel so… I don’t know– You make me feel special. Like I’m– like we’re all valuable in the small ways?”

“You are special,” Steve says with feeling and kisses Eddie’s bicep. Above him, Eddie makes a sort of choked-off sound behind the palm of his hand like he’s trying to hold something in.

“You– Jesus, do you ever hear yourself? How do you just say shit like that, oh my god,” Eddie’s voice is strained when he peels his hand from his mouth, “You’re giving me fucking cavities, man,”

“I’m just telling you the truth, I don’t know what you expect from me,” Steve laughs.

“We are going to have a nice long chat when we get home–” Eddie starts. There’s a playful sort of threat in his voice that makes Steve turn to goo. And then he processes what’s been said. Home. When we get home, he says, as though making a place for the two of them to share is the easiest thing in the world. As though taking up space with Steve doesn’t have to be some gruelling, life-altering task. “And then– what’s happening?”

“You like me,” He says instead of bursting into tears.

“Oh, baby, I really thought that was obvious by now,” There’s laughter in his voice. The rings on his hand are warm against his cheek.

“If my notebook tells us anything it’s that I love reminders,”

“Ah, I see Will the Wise gets his cheek from you,” Eddie grins. “Speaking of those little trouble makers, you might want to sit up, because they’re on their way over here now.”

There’s barely enough time for Steve to sit back up before El and Dustin are sandwiching him on either side, jumping into the car with enough force to bruise him. Without asking, El pulls Steve down against her again to crush her against the door all while never pausing her conversation with Dustin.

“ Steve , please settle this because crazy over here won’t listen to reason, ”

“It’s not reason! You are just wrong and will not accept it,”

“Oh, so, please explain to me in all of your wisdom–” Steve rolls his eyes at Dustin’s dramatics, exchanging an amused look with Will who’s hopped back up front, “–how exactly grounders and marco polo are different? They’re literally in the same category of sport! They’re basically the same game in different terrain!”

“Well, first of all, neither of those are sports–” Steve starts. 

“That’s not the point!” Dustin crows, falling dramatically against the seat. For a moment Steve wonders if this is all just an elaborate ploy to have another pool party at his house, “El hasn’t even ever played grounders. How are you supposed to convince me you have skin in the game when you don’t even know what we’re debating,”

“It is not a debate when I am right,” El says, raising her voice to be heard over Dustin.

“How do you know that ,” 

“Easy, children, we can go to the playground later if you want!" Eddie calls from the front.

"Yes, dad," the kids chorus sarcastically.

"Uh huh," Eddie hums over top of Will's giggle, "Hey El, who do you want with you today? I think one of us should stay with these rapscallions so they don't distract you," She deliberates for a moment before bringing one hand up to poke Steve in the shoulder. 

"Steve will come with me," she replies.

"Wow, he gets to squish you and supervise you and the portal? Picking favourites back there, are ya?" He replies.

"Yes," she says shortly, but the laugh that follows denotes her joke.

"It's okay, Eddie, you're my favourite anyways," Dustin pouts with a very targeted elbow to Steve's arm.

"Ow! The fuck did I do!"

"Took her side! That's betrayal of the highest degree, Harrington!"

"I literally only said that grounders and Marco polo aren't sports!"

"For Shame, Steven," Eddie jokes, winking in the rearview mirror. "No worries, boys, you'll have much more fun with me,"

"Take care of Mom for us," Will says, only half-joking, while Dustin bounces in his seat.

"Of course," El says, serious as a heart attack.

"Try to get them to check something out," Steve mumbles to Eddie before they part ways. "It'll be good for them to have something to do that isn’t worrying about the end of the world."

"D'you want something for your growing brain too?" Eddie teases, leaning a bit too close to Steve for them to be in a public space right now. A flush creeps across Steve's cheeks and he wishes it was just from Eddie's proximity.

"I'm not very good at that."

"At what?" Eddie cocks his head to the side again. It's unfair how adorable he is.

"Reading?" Steve doesn't step away from Eddie, but he does lean back, arching his back into a slight stretch.

"You read magazines, though,"

"Well, I mean, there's not much in there, y'know, like, compared to chapter books. If my, uh– I can look at the pictures in those," Shame licks up his spine and unfurls into irritation. It's always humiliating to talk about this. He can read– He can , but sometimes doing it hurts . And even if it doesn't hurt, sometimes his brain just won't process any of it. It doesn't usually come up in conversation. People think what they want to and Steve's fine with that. Except this is Eddie and, god help him, there's some posturing boy inside him still, tucked away and begging to be written into even the blurb of someone's good books. He wants to impress Eddie– to prove to them all that he's worth keeping around. That he's like them. That he's smart. That there's more to him than just a pretty face and the ability to take a hit.

"Pictures, got it," Eddie nods, and Steve's been around him long enough to be able to tell when his face is being kept purposefully blank. There's a part of him that wants to crack open the other boy’s skull to be able to look at what goes on inside there. 

"Don't make fun of me for this, please," Steve says, intending to keep the plea locked behind his teeth. He brings his knuckles up into the space between them and presses them tightly against his mouth. Eddie's hands twitch to grab him in some way– Steve would pay to know where his fingers were about to come to rest.

"Oh, darling, no," the other man's face shatters for a second, despair written across his brow before he gets it back under control. " Definitely not making fun of you. Please don't think that. Um, if I read to you– How would your brain feel about hearing books instead of reading them?"

"That would be okay, probably. Gah, this is so dumb," Steve groans, saying this is when he means I am .

"Nope! It's not." Eddie pats him on the head in an almost condescending manner that makes Steve want to bite his hand a bit. He might actually be going clinically insane. "I'll go book hunting for the two of us. You got El's stuff?"

"Yup," Steve confirms all while patting the bag he's got slung over his shoulder to make sure it hasn’t gone anywhere in the past few minutes. "I forgot once already though, so, uh, it would probably be smart to mention to someone with a working brain that El is gonna need more pain meds pretty quick here."

"Noted. Now go enjoy your girl time, princess," And with that, the boys are tugging him through the doors to the building. The parking lot is empty enough behind him, but there are a few cars he recognizes. The library has, at some point, turned into a job centre run by Steve's old basketball coach. A table by the back corner has been set up by Coach Anders and is manned by a rotating cast of athletes and cheerleaders stationed with a list of odd jobs. Some houses hadn't been very lucky when the earthquakes hit, and, while Steve does hold his own opinions of those very same people (mostly negative), he is glad someone is out there helping rebuild roofs and find lost pets. El grips the handle of his bag tightly, knuckles curled against his ribs.

"Girl time?"

"Yeah, we're having girl time!" Steve grins down at her.

"You're not a girl," El sticks her tongue out at him.

"Just 'cause I'm a guy doesn’t mean I can't do girl time," Steve rolls his eyes fondly, feeling very passionate about getting this right for reasons he genuinely couldn't even try to explain. "Like… being a boy doesn't mean I'm not, I don't know– you guys call me mom, right? It's like that. I'm a boy but that doesn't mean I can't be your mom or do, uh, girl things like my nails or whatever."

"You can be both?" 

"Sure, why not?" Steve can't help but laugh. It's not directed at El, it's just that the way she's said it makes some kind of sense in his head. The words tingle down from his brain, filtering into a command in his fingers. He tugs at the hair on his neck, longer than it's been in a while– not by much, but there aren't any hair salons or barbers open now that the only one in town got split in two. Both. There have been crazier things to happen. He’s talking to a girl with magic powers, for fucks sake.

El presses herself back to lean against Steve's front as she regards the portal. Her skull rests comfortably against his sternum and she hums pleasantly when Steve brings his arms up to loosely hold her shoulders.

"How are you feeling, kiddo?" He asks. It's a good thing they've found themselves in a library this time. Usually, it's just Steve's luck that his chauffeur days land on locations like 'behind the school' or 'at a random clearing in the middle of the woods'. 

"I am a little bit tired," El replies, looking sheepish at the confession.

"Oh,"

"I know. I should have said something earlier, but I was excited to come to the library. I was thinking that I could find comic books,"

"You should've said something, kiddo. I could've brought you over whenever you wanted."

"I know, but I am supposed to work first…" El seems upset, so Steve comes around in front of her so that he can take in her expression properly.

"Hey, none of that. You're allowed to have fun like the rest of the kids too, El, you can go out without having to work first. We'd never force you to do anything you didn't want to, you know that right?"

"I know that," El confirms, but her eyes flit up to look at him directly, "I like feeling useful."

"And you can be useful, but you're more than just your abilities. Do you wanna go hang out with the boys instead? We can get you a library card, too,"

"What about girl time?" She asks, her eyes finally trailing off from his, which Steve takes to mean she's less on edge.

"What about it?" He runs his hands up and down her biceps as if trying to warm her up.

"We were going to have girl time. We can't have girl time if I do not close the gate?"

"Oh! No, we can have girl time without the gate if you want. I just thought you'd want to hang out with the guys if we weren't keeping busy over here. Wanna spend girl time getting you some comics?"

"Wonderwoman," El says decisively with a grin and a sharp nod. "I will need to sign up for a card. Are you sure it is okay not to close this today?"

"Absolutely, dude," he reaches out to ruffle her hair. "We can come back whenever you want. Or someone else can take you if you want Jonathan or your dad instead,"

"Thank you. I was worried that I would faint. I don't like fainting. I didn't want to today," El says gravely like a confession.

"Makes sense. I can't imagine it's fun. How're your hands feeling?"

"Do you have my braces in your car? I could not find them where they are supposed to be this morning,"

"Mmm, maybe? Let's check it out." The pair pass the boys on the way back out the front door. El's busy talking about her favourite cartoon from the paper this morning and doesn't notice them, but Steve waves good-naturedly at Eddie and mouths 'girl time' with a shrug. Steve makes El laugh by recounting the story of the first time he ever fainted. It's very banal juxtaposed with the times she's passed out what with the literal superpowers and everything, but it feels good to lighten her mood a little. Even if it is at the expense of the memory of 10-year-old Steve knocking himself out cold by running into a goalpost during soccer tryouts.

The braces are tucked in the back with the book Lucas has been bringing to the hospital for Max. He hasn't seen the boy for much longer than it takes to get him to the front doors of the hospital, but there's a stash of his and Max's favourite snacks in the back. Just in case he needs something. Steve knows from experience that hospital food is fucking disgusting. El taps her fingers rapid-fire against her temples when they uncover her braces. It's extremely unlike her to have her things out of place, but luckily, if her stuff isn't back at her house, the only other place it tends to be is in Steve's car. Once her hands have stilled, she holds them out for Steve to slip the braces over her palms. The straps secure with velcro and the metal over the top and bottom keep her wrists and hands from bending.

"How's that?" Steve asks once the straps have been tightened.

"Tighter?"

"I'm asking your circulation, not your brain," Steve winks, thinking back not that long ago to El wanting to be squished in the backseat of the car.

"This is okay, then,"

"Good stuff. Wanna head in and find some comics?"

"I cannot bend my hands anymore, so you have to turn the pages," El warns, lifting her hands up to Steve's face more to annoy him than to show off the braces.

"That's fine, I like comics." 

"I can close the portal after we read for a bit," El hooks her arm through Steve's as they walk toward the door. The stiffness of her braces is still slightly alien with how relatively new they are. It's unbelievable that she's gone so long without the proper help– a lot less unbelievable and more infuriating, however, when he remembers her blank eyes and tired voice when she’d told him about Hawkins Lab.

"You don't have to if you–"

"I know that. I will be alright after resting. Will the boys be mad if we take a long time?"

"Nah, why don't we check in and let them know we'll be a bit longer? They're probably doing nerd shit right now and won't even notice if we tack on a couple of extra hours.” The boys are predictably wrapped up in a hushed argument, all sitting around a library table like they’re holding council. Will is standing at one end of it, hand thrown up in the air as though they’ve caught him mid gesture, and Dustin is watching him like he’s a good movie– eyes sparkly and attention rapt. When the two of them walk up, Will pauses what he was about to say.

“Oh, are you done already? His hand droops slightly from where it’s held aloft, and Steve picks up the slight bit of disappointment in his tone. If Eddie’s little snicker is anything to go by, he’s picked up on it too.

"No, we were coming to tell you that we will be taking more time, actually,” El explains.

“Did something happen?” Dustin asks, finally tearing his eyes away from Will to furrow his brow in a vaguely protective manner. Dustin has always been close to Will, but especially after Starcourt, before the Byers moved away, he’d spent a lot of time with El and Will. El had gotten her love of comics from him. There was a bond between Will and Dustin, as well, that was strongly forged while the other boys were getting girlfriends, one that had stayed even after Dustin had found Suzie.

"Steve says we can have girl time before I close the gate,"

"Yeah, because someone didn't tell us she's feeling off today," Steve ribs, sticking out his tongue at El and receiving a scrunched-up face in return.

"I told you now, though. We are going to read comics." 

"Ooh!" Dustin starts bouncing in his seat slightly, "Can I come with you? Uh, not that this isn't fun– I'm having fun here too, but I think I heard that there's a new Aquaman comic out, and maybe the library has it?" 

Dustin's bouncing has mellowed out since he started talking to the point where he's slid himself down noticeably in his chair. It makes sense. The only bookstore in Hawkins had met a similar fate to the hair salon and the shelves left standing had long since been raided by bored civilians. It is truly astonishing what this city’s population could overlook if they put their minds to it. The next best options for entertainment are the library and Family Video, for those with still functional VCRs, if one didn’t want to make the drive out to the city.

“You want to join girl time?” El asks.

“Well… I’m not, uh,”

“It can be girl time and Dustin,” El concedes, “If you tell me about Aquaman.”

“I can definitely do that,” Dustin nods aggressively, beaming at El, “Are you guys okay if I–?”

“Go crazy, dude, Will and I will just talk about boys or something– stuff. Boy stuff.”

“Boy stuff like boys,” Will leans his weight on the table, staring Dustin down. For a split second, Steve sees a resemblance between the siblings in the way Will’s posture takes on such an El-like stiffness. A wicked glint enters his big, brown eyes, “And campaign stuff. If you’re gone Eddie and I can talk about the big bad for next session,”

“As if I’m telling you my plan for the next session,” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, he probably hasn’t even planned it,” Dustin snarks so naturally that Steve completely forgets that he was probably supposed to be on edge for Will after coming out. “The only boy I want to talk about is Aquaman, so unless that’s the boy talk, I think I’m gonna go with girl time and Dustin.”

“Eh, he’s not really my type,” Will replies easily. “Where will we be sitting? Just in case we need you,”

“I think they moved the comics and shit to, uh–” Steve taps his foot for a moment, wracking his brain to remember. It's not like he doesn't know. Something like this should come easy to him, and it's fucking frustrating that he can't even remember something this small. He's not aware Eddie's moved until there are hands tugging his fingers away from his jaw. The leftover sting of pain clues him in that he was digging his nails into his skin again.

"Hey, none of that," Eddie chides softly, the words only meant for Steve. At a normal volume, he follows up with the conversation as if the blip hadn't happened at all. "I think Lucas said they'd moved to the front now that the jock table's properly set up at the back."

Eddie's fingers feel hot around his wrists. He's suddenly reminded of the night Eddie first stayed over when Steve had had a panic attack at him. The memory kind of sucks because he’d really just like to appreciate the feeling of Eddie’s hands on him, thank you very much. Steve’s arms twitch with the want to grab onto Eddie’s wrists only to be stopped by El’s grip on his arm. That’s right– Steve blinks back into the present. Only a small amount pf time has passed, Steve thinks, but it’s just enough time that he’s missed a chunk of conversation. Dustin is staring intently at him with his arm up, poised as though he’s reading his watch.

‘ Two minutes, thirty, ’ Dustin mouths at him once Steve has blinked away the weird haze that’s taken over his vision. It’s not as disorienting as some of the moments he’s zoned out and found himself with entirely new people or standing in a completely new location, but the seemingly random switch in the conversation around him is still uncomfortable. At some point, Eddie’s thumbs have started rubbing Steve’s joints as he continues talking with Will and El.

“–You can’t just go back and change it. It’s a fuckin’ classic,” Eddie’s saying casually while his fingerprints brand themselves into Steve’s skin. 

“I mean, yeah, that’s the whole point of a deleted scene,” Will replies, narrowing his eyes and steepling his fingers in front of him. “They take them out for a reason.”

“Right! You get me. Put a deleted scene back in and it’s a completely different movie. It messes with the natural order of things.”

“I have never seen Star Wars,” El says in the dry tone that usually comes with her having said the same statement a handful of times verbatim. “I was only asking if you knew of any comics that I would like.”

“Alright, well, long story short, I think Will was recommending the Star Wars comics,” Eddie tilts his head in her direction, acknowledging, “ But we really need to talk about what kind of movies you’re watching. How have you never seen Star Wars? You’re spending too much time with Steve. I bet the last movie you watched was Sixteen Candles or something,”

“Yes! We watched it together when I stayed over last week!”

“Steve, you are corrupting my children,” Eddie says, lamenting as he meets Steve’s eyes. For a brief moment, Eddie’s eyebrows twitch up in surprise as though he’s not expecting a responsive Steve who's actually following this verbal tennis match.

“You say I’m corrupting them, but I caught Mike listening to Def Leppard a couple days ago which is arguably worse in my books.” Steve deadpans, raising a sarcastic eyebrow and trying to ignore the vague concern dancing around Eddie’s eyes. It works in the opposite direction as Eddie’s hands move from Steve’s wrists to his cheeks and his face splits into a wide smile.

“ What!? Please tell me you’re being serious. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,”

“Jesus, Munson,” Steve laughs as he tries to swat Eddie’s hands off of him. A librarian hushes them as a formality. 

"Excuse me for thinking it's cool that one of our kids is finally taking after me for a change,"

"Literally all of them already play your little game. That's not enough or you?"

" Your kids," Dustin's laugh is a nice reprieve from the flurry of embarrassing wants flirting about his brain.

"They're finally accepting it," Will stage whispers. Steve rolls his eyes while Eddie bursts out laughing, earning another scold from the librarians. 

"As if, dork. Come on, Aquaman awaits."

It's…peaceful in a way Steve hasn't experienced in a long time. As the day goes on, the library becomes more active, but the chatter and movement of the patrons seem dulled by the heavy bookshelves. The quiet has never been quite as peaceful as it used to be given that silence makes the ringing in Steve's ears even louder. He'd given up on following along with the comics after just a couple pages and is steadfastly trying to ignore the fact that these kids can read better than him. El is quiet, mostly content to just let Dustin ramble away about every comic they've picked out. Somehow he has trivia about seemingly every background character in the Star Wars comic El is thumbing through. 

They've been at it for almost an hour while Steve dozes content across the table from them. It's kind of a shock he hasn't fallen out of his chair with how long he's been balancing on the back two legs of his chair. In the back of his mind, Steve picks up on the sound of some argument breaking out somewhere in the library. As the building gets livelier, the librarians stop caring so much about keeping things quiet so there’s a lot less shushing.

Nothing registers abnormally in Steve’s brain until Will rushes up to their table. His presence startles Steve enough that he nearly topples over, only saved by a quick diversion of El’s powers shooting out to catch him. He’s not usually on the receiving end of her powers, but he always feels weird when he is. It’s like his body is temporarily suspended in some buzzy gelatin as the chair rights itself. Steve shivers when she releases him. 

When he looks up, he can see that Dustin and El are also thrown off, and one look at Will’s face makes him understand why. Will is panting like he’s run across the entire library to get to them, and he looks pale. El is already halfway to standing with Dustin following close behind.

“What’s happening? Is someone hurt? Do we need to call Hopper? Are you okay?” Dustin shoots off questions like he’s an auctioneer, speaking fast enough that El has to reach over and place her palm over his mouth to let Will speak.

“He– Eddie– The basketball team? We were– Just–” As soon as he starts speaking, Steve’s up and holding him. The grip he has on the kid’s shoulders seems to help just enough that he can squeeze out a full sentence. “The basketball team hurt Eddie,”

And doesn’t that sentence just change the game. Using his grip on Will’s shoulders, he steers the kid to sit him down in the seat he was using. That familiar flash of irritation he feels and tries to suppress is making his ears ring and his knuckles itch. There are two types of fights, in Steve’s opinion, those that can be avoided because no one’s been hurt, and those that he goes into guns blazing. He knows he’s not good at fighting, but it’s the same impulse that had him smashing a stapler over the hand of that creep at work who was going after Robin.

“Stay here, please,” Steve says, almost surprised at how firm his voice is.

“We can help!” Dustin protests, having finally pried El’s hand away.

“I know you can, but please let me do this. I can’t– You guys can’t get hurt or your moms will never let me see you again,”

“Untrue. Like, provably untrue, actually,” Will argues, but he hasn’t moved from the chair Steve put him in, which Steve takes as a good sign.

“I can’t split my attention to make sure all of you are okay, guys. I can’t, um, do that as well anymore. Please let me just make sure Eddie’s alright?”

“You will call us if you need help,” El says as a statement instead of a question.

“Sure, yes, I’ll whistle real loud or something if I need you to beat up the basketball team,” Steve concedes mostly to get them to stop talking to him about this because he has a boyfriend to go protect. El nods shortly and tugs Dustin down by the back of the collar. At least she understands to a certain extent.

Eddie is right where Steve left him, even sitting in the same seat at the table he’d been sharing with Will. The scene is a lot different than the heart-warming bonding time it was then, though. Some tall kid is standing behind Eddie’s seat, holding his elbows behind his back in a painful way, forcing Eddie to stand in an uncomfortable crouch, hovering above his seat. Another guy, Jeremy or something, is in front of Eddie, hand-fisted tightly in his curls, holding his face close to his ugly little sneer. Everything stalls out, though, when Steve catches the red that’s dripping down Eddie’s face, making a small puddle on the table. Damn, Steve really should’ve left his glasses with the kids.

He steps forward and clears his throat to make his presence known– redirect, change the focus. Absentmindedly, he slides his glasses off his face and folds them onto the shelf beside him, hoping to hell that he’ll remember that they’re there later. He pops his knuckles more as an afterthought than an intimidation attempt.

“Gentlemen,” He greets the group with an incline of his head to Eddie and a fist against the jaw of the boy holding Eddie's hair. 

There's a part of Steve's brain that sings with the ache of his knuckles against this asshole's jaw. It's not a pretty part of him, but a part of him nonetheless. He remembers being a few years younger and thinking that he's just like his father with a sense of sick and twisting pride the first time he shoves someone smaller than him into the locker room wall. The feeling is less pride and more shame a few years later when he's on the receiving end of Jonathan Byers' fists. Now, there's less of a feeling and more of a simmering anger that's as familiar as the tiny hairline scar on his collarbone from his father's wedding ring.

Jeremy, or whatever his fucking name is, jerks with the force of the punch, but doesn't loosen his grip. The pained sound Eddie makes is like a bucket of ice water down his back, cooling his anger into a calculated thing. Step one: get that guy's hand out of Eddie's hair. His shoulders roll back like he's shivering.

"Steve Harrington!? What the f–" The Jeremy guy reels slightly and noticeably tightens his hand. Eddie's eyes shoot in his direction, his regular bravado distilled into fear. That's not a look Steve likes to see on his face, but he's glad for his eyes on him instead of these bastards. Eddie's eyes follow Steve as he takes the last few steps forward to lightly grip Jeremy's wrist. He bends his thumb to press his knuckle against the tendons in the jock's wrist. 

"Drop him," Steve's voice is low. In the corner of his vision, because he can't not be always aware of his presence, Steve watches Eddie's eyes widen where they're fixed on Steve's face. Steve belatedly thinks he should apologize later for talking about Eddie like he's a chew toy in a dog's mouth. At this moment, though, his mind is mostly preoccupied with the need to protect what's his, which he also feels a little odd thinking. Whatever, he'll overthink it later.

"What the fuck are you doing, man?" Jeremy bites. Steve pushes his knuckle forward, pressing it deep into the pressure point of this guy's wrist in a way he knows will hurt.

"I said drop him." He says like it's a threat, and maybe it is. He's not an asshole– he's not going to cause these high schoolers lasting damage or anything, but he does enjoy watching Jeremy's eyebrows flicker upward in confusion, then pain, then shock. There's a grouping of nerves and tendons in the wrist that come together to form a pressure point. With enough pressure applied, the hand will bend forward and the fingers will open of their own volition. With the pressure and a slight twitch of a thumb knuckle to the side directly into the tendons, a stream of numbness shoots up the arm. Steve cocks his head to the side, smooths the press of his knuckle hard against the tendon, and watches Jeremy's hand shoot back like he's been burned.

"What the fuck did you just do?" Jeremy hisses, cradling his wrist against his chest like it's broken.

"Calm down," Steve rolls his eyes, "The pins and needles will go away in literally seconds, don't be so dramatic. Now you," He pivots to face Eddie and the bigger dude. The second he turns he realizes his mistake. Years of picking and losing fights and he's never learned anything. Eddie's eyes widen and he drops his jaw like he's planning to shout out a warning that Steve really doesn't need because he should’ve known better.

The blow to the back of his head hits him with enough force that his jaw snaps shut, teeth closing on his bottom lip. Yeah, he's definitely got blood in his mouth now. Awesome. He rolls his eyes and then his shoulders, taking a deep breath before turning back around to sock the guy again. 

He's a little bit shocked no one has come to break up this extremely public fight, but there aren't any patrons in this part of the library. The only eyes on them are the three sets behind the bookcase staring daggers at the jocks. Will these kids ever stay put when he asks them to? This Jeremy dude claps a palm over his left ear, amplifying the normal ringing by about a million, and sending him stumbling back at the shock. He can just barely hear one of the kids gasping behind him. Well, they're here already, he might as well– 

Jeremy kicks out his knee, sending him to the floor. It's not a nice feeling to be kneeling in front of the guy, especially with the smug grin on his face. Just as Jeremy grabs Steve's hair (seriously, what is this guy a one-trick pony?), and moves to knee him in the face, Steve lets out a shrill whistle. The knee that was about to break his nose, surely, stops in its movement, stalling out just as the struggle at the table stops too. He brings his hands up to slowly pry the guy's hands out of his hair.

Trying not to touch him as he stands, because he doesn't know how these things work, Steve makes his way over to Eddie. The other man is struggling to get his arms out of the grip they're stuck in while the big jock's eyes flit around in a panic. Carefully, Steve helps slip each of Eddie's arms free, steadying him when he tilts to the side briefly.

"Hey, man, can you stand? How's your head?" Steve starts asking, already checking his nose out for breaks. It's fine, but already bruising on the bridge turning part of the left of his face red. Blood is still dripping from his nose, so Steve brings the sleeve of his jacket up under his nose, holding it there even when the redness spreads and starts to seep through to his skin.

"I'm fine. I'm fine , Steve," Eddie shoves him away and replaces Steve's jacket arm with his black handkerchief. "Can we just get out of here? C'mon, kids, grab your books and let's hit the check out," He's already moving away from the group of them to pick up the small stack of his own books sitting at the table, taking a slight detour to grab Steve's glasses from the shelf. Steve stumbles back with the rejection, heart stinging right alongside his knuckles. The kids creep out from behind the bookshelf to stand on either side of Steve. Pretty quickly, Steve realizes how pale El is, so he scoops her up in his arms, eyeing the sleeve of his jacket to see if he can use it again for her nosebleed too.

"I've got it," Dustin says, running off to the bathrooms to get a wad of toilet paper.

"I– I'll go get our books," Will says quietly, and heads off in Eddie's direction.

El is still conscious, but she's shaking like a leaf in his arms, teeth chattering as though the room has dropped in temperature. Steve bundles her tighter in the huge flannel she's wearing and presses her to his chest. Her braces are missing from her hands, so he hopes Will remembers to get those too. After a moment, Dustin races back, nearly tripping over his laces, and reaches up to press the toilet paper to El's nose. He holds it there for her while her hands shake. Moving as a group, they slowly start maneuvering themselves away from the bullies.

"You can drop it whenever, sweetheart," Steve mumbles alongside a kiss to her head. The girl relaxes slightly into his arms as she releases the boys. Her head lolls against his shoulder as a dazed expression overtakes her eyes, "That's it. Thanks for the help, back there. I've got you if you need to rest."

"I don't think I can close the gate anymore today. I'm sorry, mama," She whispers against his neck, likely unaware that Steve's heart is breaking in his chest.

"Oh no, that's okay, buddy. We can do it later on or another day, remember? You're okay. We've got you," 

The ride home is uncomfortable. The kids pile into the back with El squished in between the boys. Both Eddie and El's noses have stopped bleeding, leaving matching sticky red upper lips in their wake. There's no music playing, and Steve finally has the presence of mind to register that Eddie is quiet because he’s upset . They drop the kids off first in their separate houses, Steve helping El inside and ducking in briefly to talk to Joyce and Hopper about the day. Will sets up next to her in bed with their pile of library books, offering to read to her. Eddie doesn't touch him as they drive to Steve's house. 

"Can we talk about why you're mad?" Steve eventually asks when they've parked in front of his house. Eddie's waiting patiently like he expects Steve to just hop out.

"I'm not mad," He says neutrally.

"Could've fooled me," Steve can't help the way his voice raises.

"I'm not. This afternoon has just been a lot, and I'm… tired,"

"I've heard that excuse before," Steve huffs out a defensive breath, “You promised. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

"Maybe I don't want to ask if you're regretting it yet!" Eddie bursts out, hands still set on the steering wheel as if it's the only thing keeping him from punching the dash. It gives Steve pause.

"Regret what?"

"Us! This!," Eddie breathes raggedy out through his mouth, and thinks his head down on the steering wheel, "Me? Jesus Christ this is ridiculous. I’m being unfair. Listen, I need to go home and check if Wayne is alright,"

"Wh– Did those guys do someth–"

"Can we talk about it later? I think they were bluffing, but on the off chance that they weren’t… Please? I need to– I need to–"

" Yes , come by later and– god, let me know what's happening. But you can't keep leaving me in the lurch, okay? I don't regret you. I don't think I ever could. Don't take that as a challenge," Steve slowly pulls himself out of the car and to his feet. One hand falls gently on the roof of the car as though patting it goodbye, "Get your ass back here, Munson. Or phone me, I guess."

"Course," Eddie flashes the barest hint of a grin at him, which does genuine wonders to comfort Steve, "We've still got a reading date, right?"

"Right. Now go check on your Uncle, and bring my car back to me in one piece,"

"Aye aye cap'n," Eddie says with a playful salute. 

The house looks exactly as he left it. The outside light is still on, and the curtains are closed. The key goes in on the first try, and the house is silent when he closes the door behind him. There’s a peaceful sort of monotony to this house. It’s lonely to live in and stacked with memories he’d rather not keep, but it’s consistent. The world chooses to end a minimum of once a year, but he’s still got the same roof over his head. Maybe it makes him a sap, but it’s part of the reason he hasn’t updated any of the decor in his room in years. Something startles him as he turns to face the house, and it takes a moment to place what it is.

A light shines down the hall, which isn't necessarily abnormal except that–

"Steven. Welcome home," 

Ah. Wonderful.

"Hi, dad, when'd you get in? I didn’t see the car out front." Steve toes his shoes off at the door, taking extra care to line them up neatly on the shoe rack instead of kicking them off like usual.

“Your mother and I got in yesterday afternoon. Where have you been?” His father says as a sort of non-answer. As per usual, Steve’s father looks incredibly well dressed as though he’s a guest in his own home. His shirt is free of wrinkles and his eyes are cold as they look Steve over. All of a sudden, Steve is hyper-aware of Eddie’s clothes hanging off his body. His glasses are pushed up into his hairline since wearing them in the car was making him feel motion sick. Steve’s dad looks at him with the same distaste one might have if they’d stepped in mud.

“I stayed at a friend’s house yesterday,” Steve answers placidly, hoping to avoid getting into anything so that he can get upstairs to walkie Eddie. It probably wouldn’t be the greatest idea to have him over at the same time as his parents– for Eddie’s sake just as much as his own.

“I see,” Steve’s dad hums. “Does this have anything to do with the extensive medical bills I’ve been receiving?”

“Oh, uh, well–” Steve slips his glasses down onto his nose, “Ta-da! I got my eyes checked and it turns out I needed these.”

“Interesting,” Steve watches his father straighten the newspaper to read, effectively cutting off any more interaction between the two of them. As Steve turns to escape up the stairs to his bedroom, his father clears his throat and speaks again, “Carl mentioned seeing one of the boys from the trailer park coming and going with relative frequency. When I spoke to him this morning, he mentioned that you were letting this…person drive your car and loiter on the property.”

“Ah, that would be my… friend. His name is Eddie–”

“Munson. Yes, I’m familiar.”

“Yeah, so, uh–” Steve falters, feeling wrong-footed. Damn these nosy fucking neighbours. A part of him wants to fall to the ground explaining away the medical bills to try to garner even an ounce of pity, but he knows it wouldn’t be worth it.

“It’s interesting, is all, the crowd you seem comfortable letting into my house when I’m not here. Trailer trash from Forest Hills? Children? And what about that woman from the ice cream parlour? That dy–”

“ Don’t finish that word,” Steve warns. He knows the tone will get him in trouble, but thinking will always come second to protecting his family. It’s true for everyone in the party, but especially so for Robin. Owning part of his soul is no joke.

“Or what, Steven?” His dad lays the newspaper back down on the countertop. His cold eyes turn to look at Steve again. Before he can answer, the front door clicks open accompanied by the rhythmic clicking of his mother’s high heels on the hardwood.

“Don’t talk about her that way. Don’t talk about any of them that way,” His body curls angrily inward as though he has to physically hold himself back from springing forward. The tension is cut by the sight of his mother stumbling on her heels to join them in the kitchen. A wrinkled paper bag is clutched in her hand and it makes Steve seethe. So her errand run was to the liquor store. Figures. 

“Cliff, you would not believe what I’ve– Oh, Steven. You’re here,” Facing the door, Steve gets the absolute joy and pleasure of watching his mother’s face turn down in disappointment as soon as she notices him. Her face twists up in an ugly grimace, “What the hell are you wearing?”

Steve self-consciously tugs at the bandana around his neck. She looks like she’s been frozen in time. Even her dress looks identical to the one she’d been wearing the last time he saw his parents after the whole Starcourt incident. The only difference Steve can see are the wispy bangs she’s cut to frame her face. She’s timeless and ageless and she reeks of gin. Steve thinks of the letter from his aunt and feels his eyes burn with anger.

“His friend’s clothes,” His father answers for him, sounding vaguely sarcastic.

“I see,” She gives him one more disgusted once over with her eyes before completely turning her attention to her husband. The blatant disregard sucks, but it’s worlds better than having her attention, “You won’t believe what Patty told me at the post office just now,”

If there was ever a sentence that could make Steve immediately feel his lungs seize with panic, this would be it. It’s been so long since his parents were consistently in town that he’s completely forgotten that they still have contacts here. ‘Friends’ seems too intimate for people who interact with his parents. Hawkins is a small enough town. Everyone knows everyone who knows everyone’s business. Steve could whisper something on the outskirts of town and someone at the high school would know about it the next day. It was comforting and it was home, but it was also suffocating .

“What was that?” His father responded, sounding bored.

“Steven has a new pen pal,” His mother’s smile looks carved into her face, “And you won’t believe who it is, Cliff.”

“Get on with it already,”

“Oh, no one but your sister and that two-bit whore friend of hers , ” And now she has his attention. Steve’s father’s eyes snap over to Steve and he’s standing before Steve can even process the fact that he’s the centre of attention again. Sharon Harrington claps her hands like a giddy child, always happy to stir up gossip.

“Is that so?” His voice is low and angry. It reminds Steve of a few hours ago talking in the same tone of voice to those assholes at the library. A flash of familiar shame licks down his spine, making him straighten up to meet his father’s gaze.

“I’ve been speaking to Auntie Anna, yes.”

“Uh-huh,” Suddenly his father is right in front of him and he really doesn’t understand when that happened. His lip throbs where he bit it earlier. “I can imagine she was something to do with the fact that you’ve been flouncing around holding hands with that fairy from the trailer park then. Otherwise, I don’t know what I’d think of my son wearing another boy’s clothes and spending the night– Did you think no one would notice?”

“I–”

“Save it. I don’t want to hear another poor excuse from you. I should’ve seen it earlier. Maybe if you were younger we could’ve taken you to one of those camps–”

“There isn’t an age limit, I don't think,” His mother oh so helpfully chimes in, tapping one long nail against her chin. “Maybe we’ve caught it early enough that we can fix it still.” Steve feels his cheeks burn. As if he or what he feels for Eddie is a condition or a disease. The shock in his system keeps him quiet. God, he needs to get out– He needs to talk to Eddie – He–

“I don’t need fixing!” The words burst out of him faster than he can slap his palm over his mouth. A strange sort of satisfactory sneer crawls across his father’s mouth and Steve suddenly feels like a mouse in a trap. They hadn’t known. They had only heard part of the story, and they’d tricked him into filling in the gaps.

He tracks his mother’s graceful movement across the kitchen tile as she prepares herself a glass of wine from the cupboard, thunking the paper bag heavily down onto the counter. She takes a sip and hums contentedly. It’s like she’s off in her own world while his father leans in close to leer at Steve. Standing at the foot of the stairs, it feels like his feet have been encased in concrete. Distantly, he can feel his brain make an attempt at drifting, only to be rooted back into the present by the sharp sting of a slap across his cheek.

“You’ll pay attention when I’m talking to you,” His father snaps, and, oh, okay he’s well and truly drifted off now. The adults in his house may as well be strangers. His eyeballs feel like they’re sunken deep into his head like he’s viewing the world from slightly behind himself, “I want you out of here. You have the time it takes for me to finish this paper to pack whatever you need and see yourself out. Don’t think I didn’t see that boy driving off with my car, either. I expect the keys in the mailbox by tonight.”

“You– You won’t be getting them back,”

“Pardon me?”

“The registration is under my name. I pay for the insurance and gas. The car’s been mine for years,” Steve says feeling like someone else’s mouth is the one chewing through the words. On autopilot, a pushes past the angry man in front of him, yanking his wrist away when he tries to grasp it and heads up to his bedroom. It’s obvious the man is still trying to talk to him, but all Steve can think about is getting out of the house. The woman in his kitchen drops her glass of wine onto the floor and the sound of shattering seems to echo around his brain. His wrist is throbbing from where he pulled it out of that brief, tight grasp.

It’s easy to pack what he needs into a duffel bag. It’s already half-stocked with necessities in the event that the world tries to end again. The rest of the space is quickly filled with cassettes, his walkman, his small stack of half-filled notebooks, and other belongings. All of his photos are tucked gently into the front pocket. With a sharpie, he marks out a reminder to himself to grab the drawings and documents off of the fridge as well. Part of his valuable storage space is taken up by packing away the things his friends have left at his house, but he’d honestly rather their things be kept safe than anything he has left here.

He hardly has to stop and think about where he’ll go when he leaves here. Let alone the fact that he doesn’t have his car, there’s only one place that is reasonably within walking distance that he’d be comfortable staying. Dustin. He’ll go to Dustin’s. He’d rather be there than with these people who just keep yelling at him. 

The sun is high overhead, casting the world in a dreamy golden glow. The seasons have officially begun their change, and it’s hotter than it has been all day, but Steve doesn’t even think of shrugging off his jacket. As his arms move, the hair on his arms sticks to the crusted patch of blood on his sleeve. It’s kind of disgusting, but his brain has shut off so that the only thing he’s thinking of is the movement of his feet forward and forward and forward.

He’s thought it before, but now it proves true, that he can walk to the Henderson house blindfolded. Maple Avenue doesn’t even look familiar, but somehow after what could reasonably be hours, Steve finds himself standing on the front porch of his friend's house. It’s embarrassing to come to like this with Claudia and Dustin Henderson standing in front of him looking concerned. He reaches one hand up the sleeve of his jacket to rake his nails painfully down his arm. He doesn’t even know how long they’ve been standing there watching him– Hell, he doesn’t even know how long he’s been standing on their front porch.

“My parents are home,” Steve rasps and hates the look of realization that dawns across Dustin’s face.

“You’re staying the night,” Dustin says resolutely and then winces, looking at his mom, “Is it cool if Steve stays the night?”

“You are always welcome here, Steve, no matter what or when or why,” Claudia says seriously, her eyes glued on Steve’s face but not his eyes. It takes an embarrassing amount of time to realize that she’s probably looking at whatever bruise his father has left on his cheek. “Come in, sweetheart, you look like you could boil alive in that jacket.”

She ushers him inside. Compared to the walk from his house, Steve feels a lot more present, but there’s still a sort of dream-like quality to everything around him that makes him question the reality of the situation. Dustin pulls him immediately down the hall to his bedroom while his mother fusses around in the kitchen making tea. Once they’re in with the door closed, Dustin sits them on his bed so they’re facing each other.

Honestly, Steve feels disgusting. Eddie’s blood is stained onto his forearm and his shirt is absolutely soaked through with sweat. Dustin must realize it too because he wrinkles his nose and stands back up to dig through his things for anything Steve can wear. The thought of wearing one of Dustin’s definitely too-small Weird Al shirts almost makes him laugh. When Dustin finally stands up triumphantly, though, he’s holding something straight out of Eddie’s closet. It’s a short-sleeved shirt, thank god, and wrinkled from sitting crumpled at the bottom of the kid’s closet.

“Eddie left it here when he stayed over last time,” Dustin shrugs, “I keep forgetting to give it back.”

Steve takes the shirt wordlessly and is slightly grateful when Dustin distracts himself by shifting things minutely on his nightstand so that he’s not just sitting there watching Steve change clothes. An extra burst of gratitude flashes inside his sternum that the boy’s not looking over to see Steve hold the t-shirt to his face to breathe in deeply. The shirt doesn’t smell like Eddie anymore so much as it smells like a preteen boy’s closet with an undercurrent of weed smoke that just can’t be washed away, but it’s grounding nonetheless.

“All done,” Steve says when he plops back down onto the bed.

“Your parents are in town,” Dustin prompts when the silence stretches on for too long. He must really be worried because it’s abnormal for the kid to be so quiet.

“They sure are.” Steve nods, wincing as he brings his fingers up to absentmindedly push on his bruised face.

“They–” Dustin’s voice cracks and he clears his throat loudly before trying again, “They hit you?”

“My mom figured out that I’ve been talking to my aunt and my dad heard from the neighbour that I’ve been going around town holding hands with–”

“Please don’t– You don’t have to tell me,”

“You aren’t curious?” Steve tilts his head with the question.

“I don’t think I’m quite nosy enough to care about why Mr. and Mrs. Harrington think it’s okay to hurt my best friend,” Dustin says, voice heated and cheek flushed in indignation. “I asked if they hit you not why. Why they hit you doesn’t matter, because there’s no reason good enough to–”

“I wasn’t– I wasn’t excusing it, Dust,” Steve interrupts, but his voice is small.

“I know you weren’t,” And something crumples in Dustin’s expression. He’s bigger than when they first met, but he feels tiny still when he falls forward to squeeze against Steve’s ribcage. The sound of him sniffling is muffled against Steve’s chest, “You’re my brother, and I love you. I don’t like it when you get hurt,”

“You’re such a sap,” Steve grins, hugging Dustin tight. He buries his face in the kid’s curls and grounds himself with the scent of Farrah Fawcett hairspray. “I’m okay, man, I promise,” The frustrated sound the kid lets out is not the response he was expecting to get. Dustin pulls back from where his eyes have been dampening Steve’s shirt to glare up at him. The effect is muted due to the tears building back up in his eyes.

“That’s just it, you stupid idiot! You don’t need to be okay! You don’t have to– You don’t have to fucking pretend all the time. We’re friends! You can stop the whatever this is and just–”

“It wouldn’t be fair to you,”

“Why? Because I’m a kid? You know it’s different, dude. After what we’ve all been through?” 

“Now that’s not fair,” Steve screws up his face. Dustin opens his mouth again like he’s not done reaming Steve out, but before he can talk, the walkie-talkie on his nightstand crackles to life.

“Hello? Is this thing working?” A voice creaks out through the device. A familiar voice. 

“Oh fuck, Eddie,” Steve breathes, and his tone must be kind of alarming because Dustin immediately throws himself back to grab the walkie-talkie from the table.

“Come in, Eddie, over,”

“ Dustin , have you heard from Steve? I went back to his house as we’d talked about, but some lady opened the door. Said he wasn’t home, but I have his car, and his keys, so I don’t know where he could–”

“Breathe, dude, he’s right here. We’re at my house, over,”

“Confusing, but alright. Can I come over too or is this strictly mother-son time?” Instead of responding straight away, he looks to Steve for permission. It feels so fucking wrong to do it, but Steve hesitates. He wants to see Eddie and hear that Wayne’s alright, but he’s so tired. The thought of having to explain everything again to someone else– Hell, the thought of dealing with the resulting emotional blowout again is exhausting even in prospect.

“Wanna come over in a couple hours? Over.” Dustin finally answers, noticing Steve’s hesitation. He loves all of the kids, he does, but Dustin has always been his before any of the others– his little brother, or whatever. Eddie and Dustin talk a little longer to confirm that no one’s dying, and then the walkie-talkie is laid back on the nightstand. “You look tired,”

“I feel tired,” Steve laughs, eyes crinkling. In a moment of clarity, he realizes that he’s returned from the floaty dream-like space that’s been living in for however long it’s been since he left his hou– his parent’s house. “I might need to couch surf for a bit, man,”

“That can be arranged. We have so many friends who like making charts,” Dustin grins alongside him. “How long?”

“Not sure. Until I find a place, I guess,”

“Do you want to talk about it all?”

“I’m actually kind of exhausted,” Steve whispers. Right on cue, the door creaks open. Mrs. Henderson walks in with two steaming mugs of honeyed tea with an ice pack balanced in the crook of her arm. She takes in the teary eyes in front of her and crouches down to look up at them. After each boy has taken their mugs, and she’s helped Steve gently press the ice pack to his cheek, She rests a soft hand on each of their knees.

“I know you boys have dealt with a lot in the past years, and I may not know what all of it’s about, but I do know a thing or two about everyday monsters. If there’s anything you need to talk about, I’m right here. I’m sure Joyce would drop everything for you boys as well, you know that right?” They nod.

“My parent’s kicked me out,” Steve says quietly, eyes glued to the red of Mrs. Henderson’s hair.

“Oh, honey,” She pulls him forward slowly, giving him enough time to readjust his mug of tea or pull out of the embrace if he wants to. He doesn’t want to. Unthinking, his mug finds its way into Dustin’s hands so that he can crush himself into Claudia’s shoulder. Dustin leans forward as well to press his forehead against the meat of Steve's shoulder– a quiet presence, but a necessary one. For the first time in too long, he lets himself break down.

Chapter Text

Steve wakes up feeling hot, squished, and comfortable. Somehow after the shitshow that was yesterday afternoon and the resulting freakout, he’d fallen asleep in Dustin’s bed. Eddie had come after a while and eventually fallen asleep on the air mattress that Mrs. Henderson had dragged into Dustin’s bedroom for Steve. There wasn’t a chance he would’ve slept on it, to be fair. As per usual, Steve had fallen asleep with Dustin laying entirely on top of him like a teenager-sized living blanket. All night, one of his arms was slung over the edge of the bed being held tight by Eddie, his ringed fingers circling Steve's wrist.

In the stifling warmth of Dustin’s bedroom, Steve makes a checklist. It’s more of a mantra than a list given that he forgets the order and has to restart every third go, but that’s fine by him. His shoulder is stiff. The knuckles on the hand Eddie’s cradling are swollen and painful. His head hurts.

1. Letters, important papers, Will’s drawings, photos of the kids, notes from Eddie and Robin
2. Walkman and a random assortment of tapes
3. Clothes. Many of them are his. Half a duffel bag of clothing that his kids and friends have left at the house
4. Notebooks
5. Bat
6. The book Nancy left in his bedroom a week ago. 
7. Toiletries. Just the basics: bath products, deodorant, toothbrush, hairspray
8. Letters, important papers, Will’s–

He’s done this already.

1. Letters, important papers, Dustin’s report card from the fridge, the photo Jonathan took of Eddie with his hair in braids, Robin’s final paper she gave him to read
2. Walkman and a handful of mixtapes made by his friends. Jonathan’s home-made ‘Songs for the end of the world’ tape
3. Clothes. The half of his wardrobe that is Robin’s tucked in with a couple of things that are his own. The cardigan Nancy let him borrow when it rained.
4. Notebooks
5. Bat
6. Letters

He said that already.

1. Letters, the song lyric Eddie wrote on the back of a napkin that Steve kept on his bulletin board, the small piece of paper with everyone’s contact information that he started keeping once his memory started going, the brochure with information for Camp Know-where
2. Walkman and Max’s copy of Hounds of Love
3. Clothes. Eddie’s bandana and shirt and jeans all soaked with sweat
4. Letters,

The room is too hot and he can’t move, and something is keeping his hands from moving and–

1. Letters to and from his family complete with scribbled-out drafts and rewritten pages where Steve had to restart after accidentally transcribing Eddie’s voice
2. Walkman, headphones, tapes
3. Clothes. Dustin’s ‘in case of emergency’ pyjamas. Steve’s soft orange sweater that El loves more than he does.
4. Bat
5. Bat
6. Letters,

Someone is talking softly and slowly prying the dead weight off of his drowning body. His hands are free, fingers buried in his hair. He can’t breathe. What if he forgot something? What if he didn’t bring the–

1. Letters. He doesn’t have stationary, but if he wants to write he can use the
2. Notebooks. The important things notebook is still in the car with his
3. Extra cassette tapes. And his
4. Bat

“–ustin’s bedroom on Maple Avenue in Hawkins Indiana–”

“–alright?”

“–ive him some space, okay?”

1. Letters. His knuckles ache with the stretch he’s forcing them into. The nails on his left are longer than the ones on his right and they’re digging very slightly into his scalp in some fucked up attempt at grounding himself. He’s sure he’ll spend the next few days idly running the pads of his fingers over the swelling at his knuckles, ignoring Robin’s demands that he ice the bruises because pressing on bruises is a lot more useful to him than continuously clawing at his skin.

1. Walkman. The stress, the heat, and the panic feel like they’ve infiltrated his brain. It’s not the pounding in his temples that regularly denotes a migraine, but he knows that if he doesn’t calm down soon it’ll get there. He watches Eddie watch him, noticing for the first time that there’s someone near him. It probably doesn’t help that Steve’s dehydrated after all the crying he did last night. Maybe he should write out a reminder for himself to buy Mrs. Henderson and Eddie new shirts that don’t have messes of tears and snot on the shoulders.

1. Clothing.

"Eddie?" Steve's voice comes out as a thin, ready whine. He almost doesn't recognize it over the heaving breaths punched from his ribcage.

"That's right, darlin', I'm here. Dustin is beside you on the bed– You're in his bedroom, and–"

"Eddie," This time his voice is stronger, but still more of a whimper, "Eddie, I forgot your vest, an– and I forgot– t Hopper's jacket, and– m– what if–"

"Oh," Dustin's worried voice comes from beside him and he instinctually reaches out to hold Dustin. Steve’s body twinges viscerally at the feeling of another body while he’s still panicking, but this is Dustin– this is his kid – and he needs to make sure he’s okay. It sounds like he's realized something or other, but it's hard to think much about it. His lungs are still struggling for oxygen, but now he's aware of it at least. 

"Sweetheart, you need to breathe–"

"Can I?" Dustin interrupts Eddie from where he's being held against Steve's stuttering heart. He feels himself choke on a laugh as Dustin barrels on, not waiting for an answer from anyone. "Harrington, listen, we're getting you through this whether you like it or not. Your parents are assholes, and you never have to go back there. But! What we are gonna do is get your shit back."

Steve sucks in a wet breath, turning his gaze down to Dustin's curly mop of hair. The kid's soft jawbone is resting against his sternum as he cranes his neck to look up at Steve. "Wha– Language- Uh-"

"Do you know if your parents will be out of the house?"

"I don't– They don't really have a schedule? Usually, it's just whether or not they're currently in town?" He's kind of loathe to admit it, but making the beginnings of a game plan is actually helping.

"Okay, so do you want to go back or do you want someone else to go get the things you left? You can make a list or whatever,"

"I don't think my memory is gonna let me make a list of things I left there, honestly. I c– I couldn't even remember everything the first time, so what if I forget again and–"

"So if you're going, that changes who goes with you, right?"

"Right?" Steve's voice is hesitant when he responds.

"If you weren't going we could send some of us and Eddie or whatever, but I think if you're going and your parents will be there, we should send in the big guns,"

"Big guns?"

"Stop repeating everything I say," Dustin snakes his hand up to flick Steve in the forehead. He's pleased to note that somehow his breathing has evened out without him even noticing. "How's this sound? We call up the Chief, Nancy, and, um–"

"Jonathan?" Eddie suggests, which throws Steve off. It's easy to forget that Eddie's still a newbie to all this. It's only been a few months since the world ended, and Jonathan was on the other side of the country during the final battle. Thinking back to the shaking of Jonathan's hands when he flicked open the lighter, Steve coughs out a laugh.

"Jonathan Byers is on team big guns!?"

"Well– I just thought–" Eddie's cheeks start to redden.

"Sure why not, I saw your face that one time," Dustin rolls his eyes, but he's got that scheming face of his cemented deep into place, "He can be on team big guns because he obviously knows how to throw a punch. And his dad was an asshole too, so maybe he could help, actually." 

Sometimes, Steve forgets that Jonathan and Will had a biological parent besides Joyce. Of course, the whole town knows about Lonnie Byers. Everyone remembers the period of years when Joyce would walk herself to Hawkins Regional with bruised arms and broken ribs. A town as small and nosey as Hawkins would never forget the night Lonnie Byers and his friends smashed half the shop windows on Main street in a drunken stupor and spent the next month at the police station. 

Steve never spoke to the Byers before Will went missing. Not really anyways. Sure, he bought groceries from Joyce every month when his parents sent him money, and he taught a tiny Will to swim when he'd first gotten his lifeguarding certificate. What Steve does remember are the times he'd accidentally bring fodder home for his mother's book club. She'd gather her friends around the dining room table once a week to gossip about everything going on in town while their matching books resting unopened in front of them. 

Hawkins middle had a relatively small graduating class, but it was just barely big enough to be split into two sections straight down the alphabet. Byers and Harrington shared a homeroom and a timetable for years until High School had them choose their own extracurriculars and class schedules. The first time Steve glanced over by accident at Jonathan in the locker room after gym class and saw huge bruises wrapping around the boy's ribcage, he told his mom. She picked him up from school, sped through all the stop signs, and sipped white wine out of a travel mug. Father was busy in his office so he couldn't come to pick him up, she said. The girls would be over shortly so he'd need to stay out of the way, she said. Maybe he could work on his homework in his room, she said.

Late into the evening, he'd crept down the stairs to steal something small for dinner when he'd seen the women sitting together. Crocodile tears slid painlessly down his mother's face as she recounted the heartbreaking, utterly made-up story of watching Lonnie harm his son publically in the middle school parking lot. The other ladies clicked their tongues, shook their heads, and offered sympathy to his mother. As if she was the one who was hit. Steve isn't surprised at her neutral expression as she watches Steve's father hit him the first time.

Hopper and crew finally arrive with the afternoon. Steve has missed a shift at work, and Mrs. Henderson has sat them all down to watch Singin' in the Rain . Dustin and Eddie seem to be less interested in the movie than Steve and Claudia, based on the fact that they've almost single-handedly polished off the coffee table of snacks that Mrs. Henderson had set out. Every few minutes, Steve has to lean over to hush the boy’s whispered conversation, not tearing his eyes away from the screen. 

Mrs. Henderson calls an intermission when the doorbell rings. It’s kind of comical seeing the three standing on Dustin’s doorstep. Hopper and Nancy have a fury in their eyes that is so palpable that Steve can feel the shift in tension in the room before they’ve even entered it. Jonathan, however, is shuffling from foot to foot and staring intently at the brick on the stoop. Standing next to the men, Nancy looks tiny, her hair big and curly. She’s wearing Jonathan’s jeans which are definitely too big on her and cinched at the waist with a belt.

The conversation starts with Hopper slapping his palms against his thighs and walking into the house to take over one of the kitchen chairs. Steve’s wearing more of Eddie’s clothes that Dustin had asked him to bring when he came over the night before. He’s trying to focus on how soft and worn the material of the t-shirt is instead of the impending doom he feels at the thought of seeing his parents after the big blowout from the day before. Jonathan gives him a small smile from where he stands behind Nancy’s shoulder. 

All things considered, Jonathan should look a lot more imposing than he does. His hair is in his face again and his eyebags look more pronounced from Steve’s angle, but beside Nancy’s dark and furious expression, he looks incredibly soft. His eyes say it’s gonna be okay, man while the set of Nancy’s mouth says There’s going to be hell to pay. A match made in heaven, those two. Both of them noticeable have to keep reminding themselves to stop staring at the marks on his face– the scabbed over scrape on his cheekbone from his father’s wedding band.

“Tell us what happened,” She starts, dropping her chin to look directly into, what feels like, Steve’s soul.

“You said you need help and mentioned your parent’s being in town, but you’ll have to catch us up to speed on the rest,” Hopper adds on, gesturing one hand toward him as though giving him permission to speak. So Steve starts talking. He makes a brief mention of his childhood for context that he and Jonathan share an expression about, and then relays the events of the previous afternoon in as few details as possible. Hopper listens intently, face relaxed, carefully controlling his reactions. Nancy, however, looks like she’s about to grind her teeth down to nubs with how tight the muscles in her jaw are.

“So first things first, You need to collect the rest of your things,” Hopper says after Steve has finished speaking.

“Yes. Most of what I need belongs to other people, but–”

“We can make a stop for boxes on the way. I don’t give that much of a shit about my jacket, kid, but you need to have clothes to wear.” Hopper fixes him with a look that makes him click his teeth shut. “Second order of business is transporting everything to the cabin–”

“The cabin?” Steve, Dustin, and Eddie say at the same time. They all look at each other incredulously, momentarily forgetting the intensity of the situation to burst out laughing. The look in Nancy’s eyes has faded slightly at the break in tension, which Steve is secretly grateful for.

“You need somewhere to stay, Steve,” She looks at him like he’s missing some key part of the conversation.

“Oh, well–”

“You’re always welcome here, but in the long term, we don’t have an extra bed or extra room like the Hoppers do,” Mrs. Henderson speaks up, leaning over to lightly pat his cheek on the non-bruised side.

“Well, I could–”

“No to hotels, no to sleeping in your car,” Eddie starts listing off things on his fingers, “You don’t have the money to get your own place yet–”

“Do I get any say in what happens to me?” Steve grouses, leaning down in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. So what if he’s acting childish? He feels childish. This whole situation sucks. It makes him want to start stomping around and slamming doors, but he’d never do that in someone else's home.

“You’re over enough anyways. And the kids would love to have you around,” Jonathan adds in a very unhelpful attempt to be helpful.

“What were you planning to do?” Dustin asks. It’s overwhelming and claustrophobic and absolutely humiliating, which is why as soon as Dustin asks the question, Steve feels his cheeks heat and his eyes begin to water. It’s definitely not intentional, but Steve can’t help but feel like he’s being ganged up on for doing something wrong. He didn’t do anything. It’s not his fault.

“I don’t know, okay?” The words burst out of him like the warning growl of a dog that’s on the verge of lashing out, “I don’t know what I was going to do, because I didn’t know this was going to happen. How was I supposed to know my parents would be home? How was I supposed to plan to be kicked out of my own fucking house just because I’m a–” His throat closes on the last word, choking the noise out of him and turning it into a shaky gasp. His voice won’t raise above a whisper when he next speaks. “I didn’t do anything wrong,”

“Oh,” Nancy’s big brown eyes are wide. “No, Steve, we’re not upset with you for this, we’re just trying to devise a plan for the future. You can’t sleep on Claudia’s couch forever. We came at this wrong.”

“Then stop interrogating me, Nance,” He bites. It’s an animalistic urge that makes him feel like curling back his lips to bare his teeth at the room.

“How about we just… One thing at a time, right?” Jonathan puts a hand on Nancy’s shoulder. “We need to get your things from your, um, old place, and then once that’s done we can figure the rest of it out. Deal? Nancy and I came from her place, but Hop can take you. We’ll meet up outside yours and head in together.”

“And if your parents try anything, they’ll have us to contend with,” Hopper says, voice caught somewhere between a threat and comfort.

“They might not even be there, but they definitely won’t try anything if you’re there. Appearances and all that,” Steve waves his hand in Hopper’s direction.

“But if they do–” Nancy starts, pushing Jonathan’s hand off of her.

“Yeah, you’ll protect me. Got it,” He rolls his eyes petulantly. Eddie snickers at him and reaches over to squeeze Steve’s hand. 

Even though this whole thing was sort of Dustin and Eddie’s idea, they still try to fight tooth and nail to come with them. In the end, the only thing that stops them is the promise of Steve’s walkie-talkie staying on him the whole time. Eddie leaves before the rest of them, getting a head start on the drive to the cabin with Steve’s single duffel bag sitting shotgun. The plan is that Hopper and Steve go in together, while the other two wait outside playing back up until they get they assure the coast is clear. Nancy’s never been the best at waiting her turn, but she’d agreed to wait with Jonathan when Hopper had given her a stern look and a small lecture about not rushing into things.

By the time Hopper is starting the car, Steve’s hands are shaking something fierce. He has dug his fingernails deep enough into his hands that he wouldn’t be shocked if they came away bloody, but they act like ace bandages. With every twitch and shake, the grip he holds himself in gets tighter as though he’ll be able to contain his emotions if he just wraps them up tight enough to ignore. His hands will hurt and have imprints of his nails, but maybe some of this tension will leak out with the blood, so if he just presses down harder he–

“I’m about to confiscate your hand there, kid,” Hopper says without looking over at him. He leans over Steve’s lap and pulls a little mechanism made up of two gears and a bike chain out of the glove box. “Here. This is El’s, but if it gives you something to do with your hands that isn’t tearing up your skin, you can use it. You just play with it.”

“I’m not a kid, you know,” Steve says, and even he’s not convinced by his voice when it comes out whiny like that.

“Never said you were. I’d just love to get in and get out and not have to worry about first aid on top of that,” And because Hopper is just like Steve and he knows when to stop poking at certain topics, he changes the subject. The drive back to his house is just as short as usual, but Hopper makes a point of stopping for gas to make the trip longer and buying them both disgusting gas station coffee that tastes like water with toxic waste in it. For all his talk of wanting to get in and out, the man draws out the trip until Steve has relaxed his grip on himself and stopped shaking quite so much.

The shaking starts up again as he stands on the front step. His hands are better than before, but now his knees feel weak like if he locks them he'll simply keel over. Hopper takes the keys out of his hands and opens the door for him after his third attempt at unlocking the door. There’s no car in the driveway, but Steve’s been fooled once before, so he stays on edge, grateful that his glasses keep everything in focus. Nancy and Jonathan show up a few moments after Steve and Hopper, coincidentally after Steve has checked the whole house and sent off the ‘all clear’ through the walkie-talkie. No one is home. It’s as familiar as it is relieving as it is devastating.

Jonathan and Nancy each carry in an armful of empty boxes they’d picked up from the grocery store. They all get to work. The silence is so stifling that it makes Steve aware of how heavy he’s breathing, but he doesn’t want to even dare turn on the radio in case he misses the sound of a car in the driveway. He hates it. The hurt, angry part of him wants to collect all of these boxes once they’re full and torch them so that he’s rid of the memories of this place. 

They’ve known each other long enough that Steve feels comfortable leaving Jon and Nancy downstairs to comb through the bottom floor and box up whatever’s his. He trusts Nancy to not leave even a pen behind. It makes him grateful that she was put on the team– as though Nancy could be on any team beside one called ‘team big guns’. Not that these three know that’s what they’ve been dubbed. Steve stuffs down the awkward feeling he gets when Hopper follows him upstairs to his bedroom. Instead of packing right away, Steve lets himself fall back on his mattress, not looking up from where he’s covering his face even when he feels the bed dip beside him.

“How are you holding up?” Hopper asks after a moment, “I know it’s a stupid question, given everything , but it’s a stupid question I think I need to ask,”

“I’m fine,”

“Try again,”

“I–” It makes sense that Steve’s voice gets caught in his throat when he tries to speak. Don’t play that game with me, Harrington playing on his brain’s loudspeaker in Eddie’s voice. It helps mask the memory of his mother patting his cheek many years ago before he’d lost his baby fat. They’d forgotten him at school, and he’d been forced to walk home with sore feet and tears in his eyes. Sometimes there are people in the world you are forced to love, Steven, even if you don’t actually love them. Not really. “I’ll be fine, I think. More than anything I’m angry, but also I can’t stop thinking about them coming back."

The bed shifts slightly again as Hopper shifts his gaze away from Steve, casting a watchful eye on the open bedroom door.

“They were mad because I’ve been talking to my aunt recently– my aunts . I– Chief, you knew them before me, right? Were they– Did they– I really never could be good for them, could I?" He laughs bitterly, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. There’s a moment of silence that hangs between them where Steve can almost feel Hopper thinking. He’s quite an impulsive man, but in moments where it counts, he’s always been good at stepping back and thinking forward.

“Steve, I need you to listen to me when I say this,” He says eventually, voice still projecting into the bedroom instead of directly at him. The calm tone of Hopper’s voice has him pulling his hands away to blink up at Hopper. It’s not his cop voice, which is his usual go-to for intense discussions, but it’s not quite the dad voice he puts on for El and Will either. He’s staring resolutely forward, hands resting on the mattress in clenched fists.

“Listening,” Steve hums 

“This is not going to come across how I want it to no matter how I phrase it, so bear with me.” Hopper takes a breath and pauses again. During the break in his speech, Steve makes a note of Jonathan and Nancy down a floor below chatting idly around the sound of boxes shuffling. They’re safe. No one is home. “Some people weren’t meant to care for other people. I don’t mean that as an insult, though for these particular cases I definitely do. It’s nothing you could have ever tried or done. There are certain types of people who have children out of obligation and don’t stop to think about whether or not they want those kids or not.

“Life, for some people, is a routine. There’s a timeline of events that are supposed to happen and will happen even if people don’t want them. Everyone grows, and everyone has people die that they care about. You can’t… go back and change these things. Some people take it a step further– school, job, marriage, kids, like it’s a to-do list instead of a life. Your parents are these kinds people.

“The Harringtons– your parents– were never cut out to care for another life. All things considered, you wouldn’t’ve existed if they’d actually stopped and thought about it, but having you was a means to an end for them. That doesn’t have to be it though, okay?” Hopper finally tears his eyes away from the empty doorframe to look down at Steve. Their eyes meet, his determined and Steve’s nervous. “Just because they didn’t think their shit through before having you, doesn’t mean you have to follow them as they ruin their life.”

“What?” Steve’s voice is small, and he feels confused. Hopper said this wouldn’t come across how he was hoping it would, but Steve wasn’t preparing himself to be lectured about how he’s been a burden on his parents since before he was even born. The unexpectedness of it all has him shaking his head through a watery laugh.

“I know how this is coming across. Just–” He breathes out in frustration and turns his body to face Steve better. One of his knees is bent in front of him so that his foot dangles off the bed. “You will never live up to their expectations because their expectations are made up. They mean jack shit, and they’re just dragging you down with them at this point in an ass backwards way of trying to take the blame off themselves for ruining their own lives. This white picket fence thing they think they’ve got going on here is horseshit. I’ve been called on the Harrington house more times than I’d like to admit– more of them before you showed up than after, but that’s only because they were actually around then.

“You’ve spent so long under their thumb that it’s gonna be hard to get past it, but, Steve, you’re an adult now. This is your life, and you’ve outgrown them. I need you to understand this, kid. The kid they were raising, or not raising, really, stopped being theirs the second you fell in with Little Miss Sawed-Off down there and the rest of us. You’re not– You don’t have to live up to them or make them proud kid. You’ve done so much for us and everyone in this town all without them even being around to see it. Anyone worth their shit would be able to recognize that. Now let's pack up your stuff,”

Hopper stands without fanfare, leaving Steve floundering on the bed still trying to process what’s been told to him. Before he has any time to react, Hopper has started opening random drawers in his dresser and is already tossing things into boxes.

“Man, what the fuck, give me a minute here!” Steve jumps up to get in Hopper’s way, feeling inexplicably embarrassed about him going through his stuff even though he knows he doesn’t have anything embarrassing stashed away. Or at least he thinks he doesn’t. He makes an indignant noise when he sees the amused smile slowly flickering to life on Hopper’s face. “You drop all that shit on me and then start digging around in my shit? Not cool. I’m still trying to unpack all that,”

“What’s there to unpack?”.

“You can’t be serious,”

“Okay, since you have a thick skull, I’ll spell it out for you,” Hop leans down to look Steve in the eye, bringing his hands up to rest on Steve’s shoulders, “Sharon and Cliff are assholes who don’t mean shit. You’re a better person than they could ever even try to be and you prove that every day. We’re proud of you. Hell, I’m proud of you. I trust with my kids, Harrington, that means something,”

“Oh,” Steve swallows thickly. The need to look away, to break eye contact, itches at the back of his eyes, but he maintains it until Hopper claps his hands on his shoulders and stands back up. And then, instead of crying on Jim Hopper, he clears his throat and turns around “Um, I’ll go through my nightstand.”

All Hopper does is hum in response, apparently going back to his strong-and-silent base settings. It’s so obvious sometimes that El is his kid, even if they aren’t blood-related. They shuffle around each other, Hopper occasionally holding things up for Steve to decide on. Jonathan and Nancy are laughing downstairs, which, despite everything, is nice . There’s a huge part of him that’s stuck in the anticipation and dread of his parent’s return, but it’s quelled slightly by the sound in the house. It’s always been quiet.

If these people were anyone else, he’s not sure he’d trust them to pack away his life like this. Under regular circumstances, he might have been protective over his things. But these have never been regular circumstances, and this weird little group of people are, god damn it, they’re his family in more ways than he’s ever expected or experienced. They’re all each other’s parents and siblings and partners– they take care of each other. He knows they know what’s his and what he’ll need and he trusts them to check in if not.

Sure, the universe kind of threw them together– they didn’t really choose each other originally, but they’d never leave each other now. This family is built and they get to decide what they are to each other. It's a beautiful thing, Steve thinks. He can barely entertain the thought of a world without Robin or Joyce or, hell, Argyle without imagining the end of the world. Truly. It would take the end of the world again to break up the group, he thinks. It’s not about choosing each other originally, it’s every action in between where Dustin chooses to spend his free time with Robin and Steve at their job. 

This family lives in the small things like Will’s choice to spend evenings with his siblings. It’s Eddie leaving multi-coloured sticky notes around the trailer with contact information for wherever he’s off spending the night and that family trusting that his nephew will always be cared for on pain of death. Steve’s family lives in the act of his family driving his car full of his belongings to his family’s cabin in the woods where his family is waiting for him.

His heart hurts. Just a little bit, though. It’s manageable. He wants to phone his aunts and knows he can’t do it from this house because the thought of bringing more of his life into these walls makes him want to lose his lunch all over these picturesque fucking floors. He wants it all over with so he can go home.

And go home he does. He drives with Hopper again and they have to pull over at the gas station just outside Loch Nora because they’ve driven past Steve’s parents and Steve can’t get any fucking oxygen into his lungs. It’s kind of funny actually that he’s panicked enough around these people recently that he can categorize their reactions. Eddie comforts, Dustin makes a game plan, and Hopper treats him like he’s having an asthma attack.

The car door closes gently when Hopper comes back in from the gas station holding a large to-go cup of, what smells like, hot chocolate. It parallels them just an hour or so ago pulling up at this very same spot to get disgusting coffee and procrastinate clearing out his stuff. If he wasn't having such a hard time breathing, he thinks he'd make some sort of quip about predictability that would have the Chief rolling his eyes. He coaches him through breathing, not like Robin does sometimes with the counting, but rather instructing him to breathe in certain ways. 

“Breathe deep from your lungs, not in your throat, kid. You’re gonna pass out or something.” It’s nice. Steve tries to block out the voice of his mother and her friends gossiping about Did you hear about what happened to Jim Hopper’s daughter? Isn’t that tragic?

“‘M fine. We can keep going,”

“Uh-huh. We can start going when I say we can. And I’m not saying fuck all till you stop swaying in your seat.”

“I’m not even–”

“Anything in the boxes that would help get you back in your head?” Hopper interrupts him and looks like he doesn’t even give a fuck. Steve thinks about it, thinks about how badly he wants to be wearing something of Robin’s, and then thinks of how mortifying all of this already is without forcing the Chief to get up just to find a random sweater in one of the dozen boxes split between his truck and Nancy’s little wooden car.

“It can wait,”

“Wasn’t what I asked,” Hopper raises a challenging eyebrow at him and it’s so unlike his father that he bursts out laughing, lungs gasping in air finally like he’s starved for it.

“I’d rather get where we’re going than camp out at this gas station unpacking everything we’ve just done just to dig up a sweater that could be in the other car for all we know,”

“I can check,”

“It’s okay,” And it does feel like it all of a sudden, “It can wait, I swear. It’ll help to be around people, anyways. I just want to get out of this neighbourhood, really.”

“That can be arranged.”

Steve finishes the last of his hot chocolate just as they pull up in front of the cabin. Nancy’s car is already here, but the only one outside is Will. He looks distracted with a tiny plastic figurine and a paintbrush held carefully in his fingers. A little tray of potted paints is balancing expertly on his knee, threatening to spill onto his jeans when he jumps at the sound of the car. When the car rolls up, Will carefully places his paint and figurine on the banister and stands to greet them. Without saying a word, he pulls Steve in for a tight hug.

“We heard what happened,” His voice is kind of quiet like he’s trying not to make himself or someone else start crying, “Well, we heard some of it. Jonathan figured we should know why we had another big brother coming to live with us,”

It takes everything in his power to not shoot his hand to his chest because those words really do feel like an arrow to the heart.

“Big brother?”

“Yeah, well, y’know… You’re important to us. You’re mom, yeah, but also you’re my brother just like Jonathan is. Both, like El said.”

“Both,” Oh, fuck, Jesus christ– he’s about to start sobbing on this fucking high schooler.

“Uh, everyone’s inside, but I was waiting out here to see if you need some more– some more time by yourself or something? Well, it’s not everyone, but it’s us, Nancy, Argyle, and Eddie, so still pretty crowded. They’ve been waiting very patiently to dogpile you, so if that’s gonna be too much or whatever–” 

“I think I’m good to see everyone,” Steve says, pulling Will in for another quick hug. 

“We can leave everything in the truck for now, unless you were still wanting that sweater,” Hopper suggests. He’s leaning against the car with his arms crossed. The sweater. He wants Robin– He wants Max– He wants his aunts– He wants–

“Can I get that sweater actually?” He asks, his voice mousy. Hopper gestures at the back of the car like he’s saying be my guest. It’s not that hard to find something of Robin’s. He’d packed the vast majority of her half of the closet in his original duffel, but there were still a lot of things he’d missed in his blankness. 

He finds a soft pink pullover and holds it up to his face for a split second. She’d given it to him one night as they sat overlooking the quarry in the back of Steve’s car, lost in their own thoughts. He’d been shocked out of that reverie by Robin abruptly starting to strip. He’d jumped up with a yelp, immediately shoving his hands over his eyes while Robin cackled at him. The soft fabric of her shirt and sweater hit him in the head.

“We need to switch,” She’d said apropos of nothing, “Dude, come on! I’ve got my bra on. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Painstakingly slowly, Steve had pulled his hands away from his face, looking at Robin who was perched on his car still looking astoundingly grumpy.

“Switch?”

“Give me your– We don’t have to do pants, but, like, can I please have your shirt and socks maybe,”

“My socks!?”

“Please? We're stuck in our heads so we should switch. ” Robin said and Steve still hadn’t known what she meant, until they were sitting back on the trunk, Steve in his own light wash jeans with Robin’s soft blue t-shirt and pink pullover around his torso. Laced comfortably under his runners, he was wearing her socks while she wore his socks, t-shirt, and windbreaker. “I’m Steve now, and you’re Robin. Let’s talk.”

They just saw each other recently, but he misses her like a limb. Mentally, he adds her to his mental list of people to call as soon as the group inside has had their way with him. Hopper scoops him in against his side in a side hug that he uses to lead them toward the front door. Showtime, or whatever.

Chapter Text

The confrontation that happens inside is honestly a bit of a blur almost immediately in Steve’s brain. There are a lot of people inside who are all trying to talk to him all at once all under the impression that they’re the ones who should be speaking to him first. Even Will, the traitor, winces at him sympathetically before almost immediately raising his voice to be heard over the rest of the group to ask if Steve’s doing okay. Which, okay, first of all: No. Second of all, his head is starting to hurt from the attempt at focusing on everything happening.

It doesn’t help that the phone is ringing, Hopper is trying to pull him over to a couch to sit down, and the backdoor is slamming closed because Jonathan was outside with Argyle and they hadn’t known Steve was even there till Nancy all but screamed out the kitchen window–

“Everybody, be quiet!” He shouts, squeezing his eyes shut with a pinch of his fingers as the sound blurs together and makes his jaw ache. “Please! one at a time or not at all,”

Hopper puts his hands up in surrender, leaving Steve to stand alone by the front door. He loves these people so much, but sometimes they forget that he’s not used to having so much sound around him. There are other members of the party who are only children, but they at least have parents to contend with– a house this full and loud is… different than what he’s used to. Joyce shoots him a sympathetic look that identically mirrors the one Will sent his way and walks forward to squeeze his shoulder.

“We’re just worried, honey. We’ve only gotten part of the story,” She says, rubbing his shoulder in a way that’s usually comforting. Everything has been a lot though– God, it’s barely been 24 hours– and the touch makes his skin crawl. He feels bad for the way he shrugs her hand off him, sure, but he’s cried so much in the past day that he really doesn’t care all that much. Maybe it’s the irritation that the neurologist talked to him about that makes him feel like a cornered animal here in this lovely space he’s always thought of as a second home.

Either way, the day has been a rush of emotional highs and lows, love and sympathy, crying and anger. In equal parts, he wants to crawl into some small space to hide away or go outside to punch his knuckles bloody on a tree. He takes a steadying breath and a step back so that he can lean against the now-closed front door. The smell of sap and pine that constantly infiltrates his surroundings is nice to focus on so that he doesn’t rankle at the silence he’s forced the jam-packed cabin into.

Slowly, Steve begins to relax with the help of the breaths he forces himself to take, thumb and pointer finger pinched tight over the bridge of his nose while a headache warms behind his eyelids. His glasses are rucked up into his hair again, the nose pads already tangled in his bangs. His family waits patiently, spread across the cabin in various states of standing and sitting. When he can finally deal with his brain enough to crack open his eyes, he startles himself by laughing.

There on the couch, looking, for all intents and purposes, like they’ve accidentally collapsed on each other, are Nancy Jonathan and Argyle. The former looks almost uncomfortable with her spine straight as a rod and Argyle’s hand toying with the edges of her hair. Jonathan, by nature, looks apologetic sitting between the two and landing somewhere in the middle on the sliding scale that Argyle and Nancy make. His posture is relaxed, but tension draws his shoulders up to his ears. If Jonathan hadn’t mentioned something about the three of them on the porch that night before dinner, Steve would not have pictured the three of them together at all. Nancy and Jonathan’s cheeks flush when he laughs in their direction, which only causes him to laugh harder– hugging himself tightly around the gut and nearly bending in half with the force of it.

The laughter hurts in that happy aching way laughter tends to. It sears through his ribcage, tightens his throat like he’s about to throw up, and makes his knees weak. Sure, he looks like he’s lost his everloving mind collapsed against the cabin door like he is, but there’s a twitch at Eddie’s lips where he’s sitting on the couch that just makes the laughter come harder. Tears are pricking at his eyes, and his family thinks he’s lost it but isn’t that the funniest thing?

The tears springing to the corner of his eyes never fall, wiped away by the back of his hand before they could even consider falling down his cheeks. The laughter hiccups to an end leaving a grin in its wake that hurts his cheeks almost as much as his father’s palm did. It’s hilarious to think about this group of people he considers a family. They’re, for all intents and purposes, nothing alike, but they’re more important to him than his own blood relatives. God. He scrubs his raw knuckles over his eyes and feels the sting of it like an old friend. It’s so funny for absolutely no reason at all.

“Can I make a phone call before we jump right into it?” He settles on, smiling like a maniac, “I think I need a second before I go back there.”

It’s a bit of a ploy, really, to tug on their heartstrings to get this ounce of space. He knows they’ll feel bad for it, but he really doesn’t want to have to recount that brief interaction for the fourth or fifth time quite yet. His hands hurt a bit and he can’t understand why until he realizes that his nails are digging deep into his palms again. His voice, when he talks, barely sounds like his own– vocal cords raw like he’s been screaming and wet like he’s actively bawling his eyes out. Neither is true. Jesus, he’d love to go scream though. Maybe he can sneak out to his car and find a field somewhere.

“I–” And really, he’s what? What’s the matter right now, really? Two seconds ago, Will offered him an escape and he was fine, but now he’s in the thick of all of this love and he feels like he’s about to scratch his skin raw. He balks again when Joyce reaches out to touch his arm “Can I make a phone call first?”

“Sure, honey. Do you want company?” Joyce asks. His eyes immediately lock on Eddie’s. The other man is smiling at him, but he’s so obviously worried sick under the forced expression, that it makes Steve want to take care of him. It’s a little silly, really. “We can talk after?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve says, slowly while his voice comes back into focus as his own. It’s all… He’s tired. It’s a shock to think because he’s been tired for years, but now he can feel the crash coming– the very same crash he usually tries to avoid. The world ends, the adrenaline rush fades, and the inevitable crash pulls them under so hard they can barely keep their heads afloat. Steve doesn’t crash, or at least he holds it off until everyone else has crashed first. It’s not an option now when the world’s only ended for him and there’s no one else to take care of before himself.

It’s different when everyone else is trying to help him through it instead of vice versa. It feels worse.

But his world didn’t end, really. No one died, no one was lost, and there weren’t any monsters. And yet that bone-deep exhaustion has started pulling at him. It starts at his shoulders, weighing them down just as soon as his eyelids have decided to start weighing a million pounds each. Eddie stands up from the couch and beckons him forward to the more private landline in the kitchen. He doesn’t touch him, and Steve’s grateful at the same time as he is upset by it.

“So,” Eddie starts, rocking back on his heels to lean against the countertop.

“So,” Steve echoes, hinting a smile at the other boy.

“It’s been an intense day or so, huh,”

“Very true,”

“You don’t want to talk about it,” It’s a statement, not a question, so Steve only nods.

“Not right now. I want to phone Rob first,” Steve says and plops himself down in the kitchen chair closest to Eddie so that he can rest his forehead against Eddie’s waist. He grabs the phone receiver with one hand. “Can you put in her number?”

“On it,” Eddie chirps and leans over him to input Robin’s phone number for him.

“Thank you,” He says both with words and the kiss he presses to Eddie’s belly. The phone rings four times before Robin answers, out of breath. Without her having to say anything, Steve knows that she’s just had to outrun her dad to the phone– it’s happened many times at this point. He closes his eyes and lets Robin catch her breath on the other line.

“So I don’t mean to pry, but I have a walkie talkie and live kind of close to Dustin–” She finally says instead of greeting him or even asking who’s on the other line.

“Robbie,” He feels himself smile genuinely.

“Evie,” She counters, “Did you finally get out?”

“Not by choice, but yeah,” He says simply. She breathes out a long stream of breath that crackles down the line like static. She’d always had this grand plan– they were gonna spend one more year in Hawkins once she’d graduated from High School, and then they’d get the hell out of dodge. They’d find some cheap condo in Bloomington or Chicago or wherever she’d gotten into school. Their future place would be a three-bedroom to keep up appearances– One room for both of them and one to use as a den or whatever. Three rooms for the two of them even though neither of them was under the impression they’d sleep separately if given the choice.

“You’re ahead of schedule,” She chastises, and the levity is exactly what he needs after all these hours of tears and anxiety.

“The future waits for no one Buckley,”

“Yuh-huh, so were you able to get everything you needed?”

“Yeah. Hopper, Nance, and Jonathan came to help.”

“Interesting combo. Do you have somewhere to stay yet? I’d offer up here, but our living together was kind of going to be a thing for when my parents weren’t also in that particular equation.”

He lets himself imagine, for a moment, what it would be like to live not just with Robin but also with her parents. He imagines mornings spent in uncomfortable silence with Mr. Buckley watching the news or reading the paper. He imagines the sickly sweet look Mrs. Buckley gives to them when they wake up the house screaming their way through nightmares. He pictures not being able to hold Robin the way he wants for fear of it being taken in some way it’s not meant to by people who aren’t a part of it.

“No, that’s okay. I’m at the cabin.”

“That’s a bit out of my way, but if I dust off my bike, I’m sure I can manage,”

“What?”

“To come visit, dingus. You can’t get rid of me just because you’ve oh so selfishly decided to move to some remote cabin in the woods. Seriously horror movie material if you ask me,” She laughs and it makes him laugh. It’s okay. It really is. Eddie’s fingers trace lines up and down the notches of his spine and it doesn’t make him feel like committing acts of violence at the principle of the touch. Really, if he thinks about it, hardly anything has to change really. He already spends so much time out of the house that it’s just like he’s finding a new place to sleep not live. And even then, a large chunk of his nights are already spent at other people’s houses or roaming the streets, so what will it matter?

Yeah.

It’s really not a big deal.

“Sure you won’t get lost?” He jokes, feeling lighter both emotionally and mentally. It’s like he can feel his inevitable crash being waylayed by the boxes he’s packing things away in mentally. It’s a good feeling, maybe. Crashes suck. It’s easier to deal with if he just… pretends they’re not happening.

“Listen, that was one time,”

“Mmm,”

“Okay, a few times,” Robin’s rolling her eyes and Steve knows this because he’s doing it too. Her voice gets softer which sucks because he specifically called to avoid that, “You’re okay, though?”

“I’m okay,” He says and winces when Eddie makes a disgruntled sound above him, “I will be okay,” He amends, nuzzling his face into Eddie’s shirt in an attempt to tickle him as revenge.

“Of course, you will be. You’re Steve Harrington,” She’s grinning, and he’s feeling a little better, so it’s unexpected when he makes the sound he does. “Whoa, that was a new one. What was the sound about,”

He sticks his tongue out and makes a disgusted sound, “ Harrington ,”

“Ohh, okay Steven, uh– um– Elizabeth, uh–” Robin stumbles through part of a sentence, thinking hard. Steve barks a laugh.

“Elizabeth!?” He squawks, “What’s that about?”

“I don’t know! I just said the first name that came to mind!”

“So you gave me your middle name? Where’s the ring, Rob? You proposing?”

“Oh my god, shut up and be grateful,” She pouts. “I can take yours instead if you want.”

“No, no! I like it. We’re matching now,”

“Like we weren’t matching before,”

Robin and him are easy. It’s something he’s come to depend on– this easy camaraderie. They know how to be serious with each other, but neither of them has ever been especially good at staying tense in these tense moments. They hold each other and cry through panic attacks, but when Robin first accidentally came out to her parents she needed laughter instead of more tears. What they had was good. Friendship was never a term that could fully encompass his love for Robin Buckley. He doesn’t think there’s a word out there for it.

Eventually, Robin’s parents need the phone and he’s stalled for long enough that Eddie’s complaining about having to stand for so long and Joyce has come in twice to check up on them. Robin promises to stop by as soon as she can before she hangs up. He’s looking forward to it. He pulls Robin’s sweater tighter around himself and rests his chin on Eddie’s stomach to look up at him. The position they’re standing in is a bit suggestive, but they aren’t thinking much about it given the redness leftover around Steve’s eyes and the worry etched into Eddie’s eyebrows.

Two ring-clad hands come up to cup Steve’s face, holding him in place as Eddie kneels down to his level to kiss him sweetly. “Did that help?”

“Robin always helps,” Steve says against Eddie’s lips. Part of him feels weird kissing Eddie while saying Robin’s name, like a mixing of ingredients that aren’t really supposed to go together. “You help too, by the way. She’s decided that I get her middle name now, though, so it looks like your competition is steep.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Elizabeth instead of Harrington,” He says and even remembering it he can’t stop his smile, “She’s ridiculous,”

“Mm, I don’t know. I like the sound of that.” Eddie hums and he can feel the vibrations of it against his mouth. Without looking, Eddie slips off one of his rings and places it gently on Steve’s ring finger. It’s the same one he’d been playing with the night Hopper had given him his jacket, and the show of warmth makes his cheeks heat up. “Are you up to talking to everyone yet? I can stall if you need more time.”

In the end, they stall just long enough to make a vat of hot chocolate and bring a mug out for everyone. Eddie humours him even though it’s hot outside and Steve’s had, like, four hot drinks alone this morning. The mood has toned down slightly from the harried shouting from before, but everyone still looks anxious. At least by now, they’ve all found seats on the floor or the couches. For the first time, Steve realizes that Dustin didn’t accompany Eddie, but then he remembers Robin mentioning him on the phone. That kid… always looking out for him. He takes a sip of hot chocolate before he can fixate on telling himself that he doesn’t deserve that level of care.

Once they’ve handed out mugs, they grab themselves some kitchen chairs to sit on, Eddie close to Steve so he can rub his back with one hand. Contrary to how he’d imagined it going, this retelling is a lot more painless than the others. Maybe it was the conversation with Robin prior that helped him loosen his nerves, or maybe it’s the gentle touch on his back, but his hands don’t even shake when he talks about being his anymore. This strange film of calm dresses him like a funeral shroud. It’s almost unreal, and kind of numbing.

Now that he’s had time to recuperate after the stress of the morning, he’s a lot more accepting of the hugs he gets from everyone. Halfway through the story, Will is basically sitting in his lap, dragging the most affectionate look possible out of both Joyce and Eddie. He doesn’t even mind that he has to over-explain a few things for Argyle and El. The explanations are different given that El doesn’t understand what Steve had ‘done wrong’ and Argyle is mostly lost as one of the only ones in the room who’s never met the Harringtons. They just don’t make Harringtons like that on the coast!

It’s nice to let himself be cared for in the moment. He still steadfastly compartmentalizes his adrenaline crash away in the way he ruffles Will’s hair and rolls his eyes at Hopper, but it’s okay. He can deal with the inevitable later, maybe. Or not. Who knows, maybe this little moment will be enough to stave it all off.

The numbness, unfortunately, lasts long after the conversation. It’s vaguely like the drifty feeling he gets sometimes, but not nearly as warm or pleasant. For the time being, Steve’s been set up in the little TV room on the pull-out couch, since the last spare room in the cabin is stocked full of miscellaneous storage. It’s not a life of luxury by any means, but sometimes when he wakes up at four in the morning, he’ll set himself up to watch the news and he doesn’t even need to get out from under his covers to do it. Hopper lectures him the second night in a row that Steve can’t sleep because he sees him putting on his shoes to go for a walk as if they don’t live in the middle of the goddamn forest. Which, yeah, that one’s deserved in hindsight.

All things considered, it’s nice to be surrounded by noise, life, and family. It’s, honestly, a little bit overwhelming at times, though. On more than one occasion in that first week, Steve finds himself camping out with Eleven in her and Will’s shared little bedroom. They sit on her bed in silence and it’s the most comfortable Steve has felt in days. At one point El peeks at him over her shoulder, a book with a cracked spine splayed open in front of her.

“I understand how it is, you know?”

“How what is?”

“The…” Her face scrunches up as she searches for words, “This house is so alive . I was not used to it for a very long time. I am still not always used to it,”

Steve’s BMW sits unused outside for a full week before Eddie comes to visit. They talk, but Steve can’t help but look between them and think of all of the unspoken threads of conversation he’s missing. Is Wayne okay? Of course. What have you been up to this week? Oh, I’ve been spending a lot of time writing and driving around the kids. Will you tell me what’s wrong? There’s nothing wrong, sweetheart. He’s just tired. He’s just really tired and everything feels so monotonous that he’s going a bit stir crazy. He's exhausted by the way everyone's been handling him with kid gloves. All the gentle comments and sympathetic looks are giving him cabin fever.

Eddie does, at least, make good on his offer of a library book date. Once he starts coming over more often, he and Steve sit together on Steve’s new temporary bed and read. It’s a book Eddie’s already read, but that just means that Steve gets the bonus features of it as well as the book itself. Eddie will come over in the evenings after the family eats dinner, read and talk until Steve finally falls asleep, and then leave wordlessly to, presumably, go back to his own place. It’s fine.

He wants to go wander aimlessly through the woods just to see what would happen. He wants to throw on his sneakers and run for long enough that his body actually lets him sleep long enough that he doesn’t have to wake up at 4 AM to cold sheets. He wants to see his friends, but he’s the driver and he can’t even drive right now to meet up with them.

It takes a surprisingly short time for the days to turn into a waiting game of who’ll crack first– Steve or Joyce. He’s listless and so obviously trying to distract himself from his impending emotional crash, and the best distraction for Steve has always been to stay busy. After the apocalypse, Steve always drove the kids to appointments, school and get-togethers to stay busy. Now, he makes lunches, dinners, and desserts. He cleans every room in the cabin, washes and re-washes the dishes and even sweeps the porch. Needless to say, he finds ways to stay busy, but it doesn’t do much to help the restlessness he feels.

It’s no surprise that Steve finds himself working longer hours at Family Video, catching rides in the morning when Joyce goes to open the grocery store at six in the morning and getting driven home by Eddie or Hopper. It’s, against all odds, the most childish he’s ever felt about the whole ‘no longer able to drive’ thing. It doesn't help that Eddie's been basically driving Steve's car like it's his own since Wayne's been using the van for something Eddie won’t tell him about. Working with Robin is the best he ever feels, but even she’s starting to get impatient with him. As soon as he walks out the back door, it’s like a mask is pulled off of him. He’s left exhausted and forcing himself into the passenger seat of whoever’s outside to get him. 

After a week and a half of near-silent car rides with his boyfriend, Steve realizes that both of Eddie’s hands have been on the wheel the whole way back to the cabin. It’s a small thing. It really should just feel like a small thing, but it doesn’t feel like it anymore. Instead of getting out of the car once they’re at the cabin, Steve pulls his feet up onto his seat and tucks his chin in against his knees.

“You’re upset with me,” He says as a statement instead of a question.

“I…I am?” Eddie doesn’t even turn the car off or take his seatbelt when he turns to regard Steve. He’s not planning on staying.

“You are,”

“I’m not, though,” Eddie says slowly, fingers coming up to shuffle his rings on his fingers without breaking eye contact. “If anything, you’re the one acting upset,”

“I’m just t–”

“Tired, I know.” Eddie sighs and leans forward to brush a lock of hair behind Steve’s ear. “It’s okay to be upset, though, right? You’re allowed to let yourself be upset about all this. I mean, it’s a shitty situation to–”

“I don’t want to talk abo– I’m not upset. I’m just tired.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Eddie sighs. “Will I see you at the family dinner thing Joyce is doing tomorrow?” He asks though he’s really asking if Steve will be working or otherwise finding some excuse to isolate himself from the family for the umpteenth time instead of spending time with them. It’s an olive branch if he’s ever seen one.

“Sure,” He says non-committally, unlatching his seatbelt and hopping out of the Bimmer. “Have fun doing whatever it is you do at night nowadays.” The car stops running and Eddie’s behind him before he even realizes it.

“That’s unfair.” Eddie’s voice is hard, “Stop deflecting. You know you’re going to have to feel it all eventually, right? You can’t box it away forever.”

“Is it? Am I?” Steve folds his arms over his chest. The numb blanket he’s been wearing lifts ever so slightly to let some frustration eke out. “Because I certainly haven’t seen you recently. We barely even talk when we’re together. Everyone's treating me like I'm about to fucking break or something,”

“I’m trying to– I’m giving you space! To process and shit! Every time I see you it’s like seeing a ghost, man. I’m just– I know you’re going through shit, but you’re not giving yourself any time to sit in it.”

“Sit in it!?” Steve’s well aware that he should be embarrassed, but they’re both standing in the expanse of gravel outside the cabin yelling. The whole Hopper-Byers clan is just inside for fuck’s sake. The sun keeps glinting off Eddie’s rings when he gestures. “What’s the point? What use am I sitting here crying when I’ve got stuff to do? I don’t want to fucking sit in it , Eddie. There’s nothing I want less,”

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” Eddie copies Steve’s body language, muscles taut under his t-shirt and arms folded across his chest.

“Because sitting in it means thinking about it!” It bursts out of Steve unexpectedly enough for his own hands to reach out in angry gestures. “Thinking about it makes it real . You don’t fucking– You don’t get it, man. I’ve been alone my whole god damned life, and the only times I’ve not this same fucking thing has happened in some way. This fucking bruise is not an outlier , Munson, and if I took time to sit with these feelings every time, I’d get nothing done.

“Oh, boo hoo daddy Harrington hit his kid again. Big fucking whoop, dude, what the fuck else is new,” He throws his hands up, shouting up into the trees. “Oh, and his mom didn’t do anything to intervene? I repeat my last. I’m not good enough for them and there’s no use in me circling the drain on that one because it’s always been the same shit. 

“So they know I like guys– that I like you– I– If I sit in it, I can’t protect you.” His chest hurts with how his breath shudders out in ragged bursts. It feels like the words are choking him out. He’s distantly aware of the fact that he’s panicking, “That means thinking about how they were gonna send me away. I watch the news, Eddie, I’m not an idiot. I know what happens to people like me– like us– so maybe I just wanted to forget that for a bit but you just keep–!

“And I’m going crazy here because the only places I’ve been are Family Video and this cabin. I can’t even drive myself anywhere anymore, because I’m a fucking child who can’t even run my own damn errands,” His voice is less coherent than it had been at the beginning of his little tirade. His arms hang loose at his sides as his sentences come out in angry pants. He can’t even bring himself to look at Eddie– to see more of the same well-meaning sympathy and pity that’s been haunting him ever since he’d moved in with the Hopper-Byers. He doesn’t see Eddie get closer till he’s being pulled in against his chest.

“Ah, there we go,” Eddie murmurs, hugging him tight and kissing the crown of his head, “Attaboy,”

“This is so fucking stupid ! Why am I broken up about this? Sure, I didn’t know they’d, like, kick me out, but I could’ve predicted it if I really tried. Why am I so broken up over this,” His voice has turned whiny in his attempts to smother the frustration building up inside. He doesn't want to feel it anymore. He's not his dad.

“Because they hurt you,” Eddie says simply, as though there’s nothing else that needs to be explained.

“They always have.”

“And now that you’re gone, your brain is catching up for all the times you’ve boxed this all away.”

“Jesus Christ,” He shakes his head, nosing his face further into the worn material of Eddie’s t-shirt, “I can’t even reach my aunts. They won’t pick up their phone.”

“I’m sure it’s okay,” Eddie says gently but he’s frozen up in Steve’s grasp in that frustrating way he does.

“Why don’t you tell me anything,” Steve asks, quietly, fully intending to keep the thought locked tight in his brain. He doesn’t want to pick a fight with Eddie. Another fight, rather. 

“I do! I’m a veritable open book, baby,” The joking tone is back like a comforting blanket, but Steve’s been high-strung for so long that all he can do is pull back to look Eddie in the eyes.

“I think you think you’re a lot more of an open book than you actually are,” Steve whispers and pretends he doesn’t feel the way Eddie tenses further. “You keep hiding things even though you tell me you won’t,”

“I can’t–” Eddie starts, avoiding eye contact with Steve. Before he can finish the sentence, or even really begin, the front door creaks open hesitantly behind them and Joyce pokes her head out. He feels caught.

“Sorry to interrupt, boys, but could I steal you for a moment, Steve?” The tone of her voice is firm and a little irritated, but in that familiar way it gets when she talks to Jonathan or Will sometimes.

“Sure, I’ll be right in, Mrs. Byers,” He calls, finally disentangling himself from Eddie. “Sorry for shouting,”

“Sorry for pushing you,” Eddie says quietly. “I– the thing I’m hiding from you is a good surprise, I promise,”

“It’s not just that,” Steve crosses his arms again and takes a blind step back toward the house. “You won't let me in, Eddie. I know how hypocritical that is, I get it, but… I haven’t had a choice but to let you guys in the past couple months. Between all the fucked up brain shit, my aunts, and my parents you’ve gotten, like, a personalized tour of everything that makes me tick, but you still don’t– It feels like you don’t trust me,”

“I do,” His eyebrows arch despondently, “I do, and I need you to trust me on this one too. Please?”

“I’ve gotta go inside and see what Joyce wants. Thanks for the ride,” He says instead, mentally kicking himself even as he turns around for how pissy he’s being. Eddie deserves better than that. The whole party deserves better than this sorry little moping act. Steve doesn't know when Eddie gets back in the BMW and drives away, but he's not there when he finds his way outside later on.

Inside, Joyce is standing in the middle of her kitchen with her hands on her hips and one eyebrow quirked. Behind her, every cabinet and cupboard is open. Even the fridge and freezer doors are thrown open wide to show the crowded mess within. Joyce looks at him, expectant and irritated in equal measure. It appears as though this game of 'who will crack first' has reached both a climax and a tie. 

"I love you, Steve. I know you're going through an intense time and you're still figuring out how to cope, but–" She pursues her lips and brings her hands up to steeple in front of her face in frustration. " Please stop washing my dishes. Where are you putting everything? We have a refrigerator full of chicken noodle soup and our cutlery is shinier than I've ever seen it, but I can't even find my damn colander! Yesterday you cleaned the same bowl six times in a row. "

"I'm sorry, I–" He starts, feeling properly chastened. Joyce holds up a finger to silence him. She may be nearly a foot shorter than him, but she's a master at looming.

"I'm not finished, honey," She lowers her eyebrows in a softerlooko, "The kids miss you. We all miss you. You need to let us help you. We want to take care of you, okay?"

It's easy for him to forget how small she is given how full of life she is, but he's suddenly aware of the fact that he's looking down at her. His own mother was taller than Joyce with darker hair and colder eyes. She never stood in the kitchen with disappointment in her eyes like this. Disappointment from her was usually accompanied by freshly shattered glass by her feet.

Whenever she was upset, whatever was closest to her would very quickly find a swift end against a wall, the floor or whatever other surface was within reach. She was a woman with a quick temper. Half the time, she’d be laughing at his reactions before the glass had even settled, giving him emotional whiplash. It was like living with an overgrown toddler.

Joyce isn't like that. She holds her ground, barely standing to his sternum and tapping her foot impatiently in the way he's only seen in movies. She's a firecracker, but she's warm. And here she is disappointed. She narrows her eyes as though asking Well? And Steve responds by promptly bursting into ugly tears. So maybe putting off the crash made things worse with the build-up than he thought.

"Shit," Joyce hisses as he unexpectedly crumbles against her, bumping his head against her shoulder. The shock of it makes him choke on a laugh that really just sounds like another sob. It's, surprisingly, the most awkward Steve's ever seen her like he's shocked her so completely out of her annoyance that she's left floundering. "Ah, there there, honey,"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to mess up your stuff," He sobs into her shoulder. The sentence is barely intelligible.

"It's okay, honey, maybe next time you can just ask before hiding all of my knives, okay?" She pets his hair as she talks, voice consciously light. 

"Okay," He laughs again and it makes him pull back just enough to see the mess he's made of her shirt. Shockingly, it only makes him cry more, "Oh god, your shirt. I'm s– so sorry,"

"Steven," she levels him with another look. His name sounds good coming from her, "I have three kids besides you, you know. You think a little bit of snot’s gonna turn me away? I've got more shirts. This doesn’t even hold a candle to the mess Will used to cause as a baby."

She talks about it like it's normal. She's a mother so of course, she'd be okay with mess . As though Steve wasn't learning which clothes to bleach and which to starch at the tender age of seven. Like his father hadn't needed to buy an entirely new set of plates the last time his mom spilled half a bottle of red on her favourite skirt and left the dining room floor a minefield of glass.

"Okay," He says again mostly so she knows he's still listening. And then for good measure, "Sorry,"

"It's alright , Steve. Do you want to talk about all the yelling outside just now?" Like she's trying to distract him by changing the subject. He buries his face back against her shoulder with the weight of his renewed sobs.

"I yelled at him, M– Mrs. Byers. He didn't deserve that. I'm just so tired of everyone walking on eggshells around me, and I've been trying to ignore what my parents did and… I want to talk to my aunts, but they won't answer the phone. I don't know what I did wrong. He won't talk to me,"

There's something about interacting with Joyce Byers that him feel young. It's like sitting across the table eating at the diner with Hopper. THe whole experience is unlike any interaction with his own parents. She holds him tighter to lead him into a chair so that he can sit down. Only when he's sitting does he realize how weak his knees have been.

"Oh, honey, no ," She says emphatically, sitting across from him and squeezing his knees. "You did nothing wrong, Steve. Eddie will understand, I promise. I know what he's planned, but we swore not to tell. It's a good surprise, sweetie. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't . I can’t tell you what he has planned, but it does have to do with why his van’s been missing" She winks at him like they’re both in on some little joke.

"Okay," He feels a little like a broken record.

"What would help you most right now?"

"I think I… need a distraction," He admits, only realizing how he sounds when Joyce narrows her eyes again, "Not– not in that way. I need to do something with my hands, like– I need to put this energy somewhere or I’m going to explode."

She snaps her fingers in understanding, "I know just the thing. We've been meaning to build a ramp for Max when she gets out of the hospital, but we've been to out of it recently to do anything. Want me to grab Jim?"

It's the perfect plan. Joyce sets them up with the materials in the front. He's tired of ignoring how he feels, given that leaving it to fester just seems to be making it worse, but he is silently grateful that Hopper doesn't comment on his red eyes or the shouting match that transpired earlier. He just grunts a greeting and nudges him on the shoulder with a closed fist. The afternoon sun beats down on him, warming him exponentially underneath the black t-shirt he has on. He genuinely can't tell if the shirt is his, Eddie's or Jonathan's, but no one seems to mind.

Will joins them after a while, bringing his portable radio with him. He fiddles with the dials, switching between oldies, pop, and talk radio every few minutes until Hop grumbles about picking a damn station already. Turns out it's a good outlet for the energy trimming under his skin. He's never really built anything before, but he likes it. The ramp is easy enough to build and takes way less time than he expected it to. Joyce brings the three of them lemonade a little bit into their endeavour, claiming it's homemade. Will talks their ears off about what school was like in California, taking advantage of their hard-working silence.

They have to take frequent breaks because Hopper's ankle is bothering him, but Steve doesn't mind. There's something soothingly cathartic about sitting back on the porch steps as Will flips the radio station again to Head Over Heels by ABBA. They're all sweaty and red-faced, Will too even though he hasn't been helping them work. Steve accidentally catches his thumb with the hammer once and startles Hopper into doing the same with the sudden yelp he lets out.

By the time Will has run out of stories and the lemonade and ramp are both finished, the cicadas have started their screaming. The sun is setting nicely casting their hard work in the sprawling shadows of the trees ahead. Steve sets down his empty glass and feels more clear-headed than he has in, honestly, weeks. He's sufficiently sweated out his bad feelings, leaving room in his head and heart for a long-awaited contentedness. Hopper wobbles inside, leaving the younger two on the porch.

"That helped?" Will asks, hands fiddling with his empty glass. The condensation smears over his hands, dripping off his fingertips onto his shorts. He leans to the side slightly to knock his head against Steve’s shoulder. It makes his chest warm.

“I think it did, actually,”

“Yeah, I can tell. Who knew building things was so good for you,” Will giggles a little.

“I think it was good to just have somewhere to… put everything I was feeling? And use it to be productive. Like how you draw. There’s only so many times I can wash your dishes,” They laugh together quietly before slowly falling into companionable silence.

“Are you and Eddie gonna be okay?” Will asks quietly. Steve winces. He’d just forgotten that the whole family was there to witness his little tiff.

“I… Yeah. I’ll– I’m going to phone him to apologize. ‘T was a dick move to just yell at him like that for no reason.”

“I think it’ll be okay. You guys like each other too much,”

“‘Too much’,” Steve parrots with a laugh. He pulls Will closer against him in a short side-hug before standing the two of them up, “Let’s head in, yeah? We can be in charge of dinner tonight.”

“Do I get to choose what we have?” Will asks conspiratorially as if Steve would ever say no to him.

“Of course, kiddo, what are you thinking?” Steve smiles down at him. They end up standing side by side at the kitchen counter, laughing as they form burger patties by hand. Will keeps making gagging sounds because he hates the feeling of raw meat and it just makes Steve laugh every time he does it. Eventually, they have enough made that Steve can put Will in charge of getting the frying pan ready so that Steve can finish off the rest sans gagging noises.

Jonathan and Joyce drag out Joyce’s record player at one point, setting down the needle on a well-loved record that’s a couple decades old. Monday Monday plays cheerfully over the sound of burgers sizzling in the pan. Smoke drifts easily out the kitchen window, bringing the rest of the family into the kitchen as well, pleasantly surprised that the smell is coming from cooking food instead of a kitchen-related housefire. Will gets out the dishes and necessary condiments, leaving them grouped together on the table instead of setting it.

Straight Shooter crackles up next while Hopper watches Joyce with warm eyes. He’s sitting at the table having exerted his ankle a bit too much for one day, but he looks happy. Hell, Steve feels happy too. He laughs alongside Will as Joyce grabs Jonathan to dance. She bounces them around in a goofy little rock step while Will and El clap to the beat of the song. They eat dinner together on the porch, sitting around each other on the wood of the new ramp. Steve sits on the gravel below everyone so that he can see them all. He finds himself grinning ear to ear, almost hurting with how grateful he feels for this moment and this family.

They spend the evening together, eating, dancing, talking, and resting. It’s beautiful outside where they sit, warm and happy. Eventually, El hops off the porch to sit in Steve’s lap, letting him play with her hair til she’s on the verge of falling asleep. He turns his attention to the sounds around him, basking in the care of this little group, and lets himself feel.

Chapter Text

Nancy shows up once everyone’s finished their food with a worn leather notebook tucked under her arm and a pen sticking out of her hair. Working at the paper has been keeping her busy, and Steve knows she's grateful for it. Ever since he's known her she's been the type to seek out busywork, especially when she has something on her mind. Her job has simply taken over the space she used to fill with extra-credit work and excess studying. She has an article to edit folded between the pages of her notebook that she shakes out to go over once she's sat herself down on the porch next to him.

The Hopper-Byers have filtered inside, promising to come check on him if he didn't follow soon, so it’s just the two of them sitting together. He gives Nancy an appraising once over, taking in her nice blouse and dress pants. She's dressed up, but not as though she's come from work. Whistling lowly, Steve wiggles his eyebrows.

"Hot date with Jonathan tonight, Nance?" He grins, light and teasing, and only gets more delighted when her cheekbones dust pink in the golden light.

"Um, no actually," She starts, sounding a little out of her depth. "I'm here for Argyle. The two of us are getting coffee,"

"Coffee? It's almost eight,"

"Well, more like dessert," She shrugs, trying to brush off her blush, "I figured we should get to know each other better outside of Jonathan given the whole, um– our whole thing. The three of us. It's new," She finishes with a tomato-red face and a pen cap between her teeth.

"Yeah, John had mentioned you three. How's that going?" It feels a little weird talking to his ex about her current relationship, but he loves her too much as a friend to be bothered by it. At the question, Nancy lets out a large gust of air not quite in relief but something close to it.

"It's… interesting. It takes a lot of openness which we– I am working on. I'm not used to talking about my feelings like Argyle is," She twists up her face in a way that furrows her eyebrows down and scrunches up her nose. Steve thinks back to his senior year with months of repression and sweeping things under the rug– to Tina's Halloween party and confessions long buried only finding their way out with the help of alcohol. He cringes in sympathy.

"It takes a lot of work," Steve says, nudging her with his shoulder. “Still learning all that,”

She snorts in a distinctly ungraceful way that would never match his image of Nancy Wheeler when they first met years ago. She nudges him back and follows the gesture by leaning her head onto his shoulder. Her voice is tentative and strained as though she’s smiling ruefully out into the woods in front of them, “Yeah, Argyle and Jonathan are… They’re very open about their feelings, you know? It’s hard to keep up,”

“The Byers do like talking about their feelings, yeah. Robin’s the same. She’s training me,”

“We always were shit at communicating, weren’t we?” She laughs, and it isn’t even bitter. Steve waits for the tell-tale ache that often comes when their break up is brought up in conversation, but it never comes.

“Nah, much better off just being friends,” The silence grows comfortable between them as the sun starts to lower in the sky. The shadows of the trees stretch forward to meet their feet while they sit together companionably. He’ll have to help Nancy fix her hair when they sit up because her curls are definitely getting crushed against his shoulder. 

“I’m happy for you by the way,” She says, eventually breaking the silence. 

“Yeah?” He brings a hand up from where it rests on the porch to yawn into his fist.

“Yeah. You and Eddie are good together,” She pats his knee and sits up straight. Mentioning Eddie makes him remember what happened that afternoon and he looks away with a wince, "You care about each other a lot. I'm sorry I couldn't be that for you,"

"You weren't meant to," He shrugs, "For what it's worth, I wish I'd been better for you too,"

"We're better like this now," She laughs, echoing his words from a minute ago. They fall back into companionable silence, just sitting together and enjoying the company. Gusts of hot wind blow through the trees, rattling the branches of the evergreens and creaking quietly into the night air. If he thinks back to before when his memories were still intact and his hearing hadn't really fucked off yet, he remembers these sounds being clearer. There’s a certain amount of audio fuzz in his surroundings nowadays that makes natural sounds come across as though they’re pre-recorded. It can be a bit disorienting, especially when he’s feeling floaty.

The whole lot of them have changed, obviously, but in moments like these, it's hard not to be introspective. He thinks back to a couple of years ago, sitting side by side like this with Nancy, their feet dangling into his emptied pool. Every year when the seasons change, Steve cleans the pool, empties it and covers it for the winter. Pool maintenance is a chore that's been drilled into him since he's been strong enough to crank the cover over the top. The thing is heated, so his parents never bothered emptying it in the winter, but after the winter of '83, no one comes over to use his pool that late in the year anymore. 

He remembers the first time he went through the process of it, draining the water out and cleaning out the bottom. Nancy came over that night, just months after their first foray with the Upside Down, both still quiet in their distress. They hadn't started fighting yet or even going to dinners with Barb's parents. It was dark, and Nancy had snuck out of the house, unable to sleep. She didn't even need to ring the doorbell– he'd shown her where the spare key was last time his parents went out of town. Just in case. He’d never had ‘Just in case’es before.

He and Nancy had sat in silence for hours in the freezing winter air, Nancy in her puffy jacket and winter boots, and Steve in a fleece and trainers, both shaking but refusing to move from their spot by the pool. The pool is deep enough that Steve doesn't have to think about it when it's full, his feet not touching the ground as he practices lengths for the swim team. When it's empty it seems deeper, especially with the eerie glow of the pool lights lighting the two of them from below. They didn't talk, not even when they both moved to go inside, only to spend the remainder of the night holding each other on the couch, watching the sunrise from the comfort of the living room.

Nancy's loafers kick absentmindedly at the gravel beneath their feet like she's remembering the same night. Even though it's warm in the summer dusk instead of frigid as it had been that night, Steve briefly finds himself stuck in the memory. He's still wearing the same black t-shirt and jeans from earlier and the contrast between their dress even feels a bit like junior year with Nancy in her freshly ironed sweaters and him in his sweaty gym gear. For the first time in a long time, he realizes he's not looking back on those years with fondness. Sure, good things came from those years, but there hadn't been anything of substance there– Happiness had been lacking for him a long time before Nancy broke up with him, and she wasn't the reason it had been lacking after.

The door creaks open behind them, tearing Nancy and him out of their thoughts to face Argyle and Jonathan. Argyle’s hair is down, hanging around his waist like usual. When Argyle sees Nancy, he grins and bends at the waist in a bow that reminds Steve of Eddie.

"Good Evening, fair lady," Argyle says. If it had been said in one of Eddie's goofy little accents it may have seemed less weird given Argyle's slow speech. Jonathan grins and waves at the two of them as they crane their necks back to look at the boys. "And gentleman. Hey again, dude," 

"Hi Argyle," Nancy smiles warmly at him. It's easy for Steve to see the front she's putting up now after years of knowing her, but it's not a bad thing. She's being polite to get to know him better, not hiding the fact that she'd rather not get to know him at all. He's happy for her. After everything they've been through, it's about time they all figured out that they deserve nice things. "You ready to head out?"

"Ready, Freddy," Argyle says, and Steve chuckles even though, and maybe because, the man makes no sense. He's clashing less than usual, probably because Jonathan's been playing runway judge while Steve's been losing feeling in his tailbone outside. Fact is, he cleans up well. One of his colourful button-ups that usually hangs open over an equally colourful t-shirt has buttoned fully and half tucked into a pair of Jonathan's jeans. Steve wolf whistles as Argyle walks over to help Nancy to her feet.

The two of them still look strange together, but it's a good strange, Steve thinks. Refreshing. Argyle is the same height as Jonathan, which means he towers over Nance where she stands next to him in her monochrome dress wear. The image of them is truly like a physical embodiment of the phrase opposites attract . He winks at Jonathan when Argyle leans over to smooch Nancy on the forehead, making her laugh and swat him away.

"I won't wait up. You can let yourselves in whenever unless you're heading back to the Wheelers’…?" Jonathan trails off, raising his eyebrows like it's the first time he's thought they might be planning to do just that.

"No way I'll be able to sneak him past my mom. We'll be back," She says, gesturing at the bright pattern of Argyle's shirt. 

"Promise not to keep you waiting, man. We are not skipping out on the bedtime snugs," Argyle's face is serious and it's ridiculous to hear bedtime snugs said so intensely. Steve can't help but snort.

"Go have fun, crazy kids," He waves them toward Nancy's car, eyes crinkling, "I'll watch the worry wart over here for you. Enjoy your dessert," and if he winks at Jonathan again just to make him flush bright red, that's just payback, alright?

Jonathan takes Nancy's spot beside him once the other two drive off, and it makes Steve realize he should probably stretch his legs some. If pressed he couldn't actually say with any certainty how long he's been sitting out here, but he knows for a fact that his hips are going to pop very loudly as soon as he deigns to get vertical again. He preemptively brings one hand to his hipbone to rub circles into the joint, already feeling the tension there. It's just one of the many perks to saving the town so many times– all these aches and pains in his body. It's nothing serious like the pain Eddie still has in his legs or the way El's fingers will lock up, but it's definitely more present than it was back in high school. The lack of routine exercise combined with the multiple shocks to his system have left his knees popping like an old man's.

Beside him, Jonathan is flicking his finger on the shutter of a camera that he's poised at the tree line. He'd taken a couple of photos of his partners before they'd left and Steve had teased him for making them pose like they were taking pictures for the first day of school. There's still enough light out that Jonathan hasn't been using flash, but the sun is dwindling. He wonders if he can ask John if he can come with him next time he goes to the dark room. Wonders if he's getting any good shots.

It's something Steve used to be jealous of– not just of Jonathan, but he's a good example. All of his friends have a… thing. They've all got hobbies, and all he does is work and play chauffeur. Can't read anymore, doesn't play sports unless Lucas wants to practice, doesn't do art or write music like Will or Eddie. These past couple of months have him leaning into things, though. He spends a lot of time cooking, and the lack of access to his own vehicle has made him enjoy taking walks again. 

It’s okay now, though. He’s way too fond of these people to be bothered in any way by seeing them happy.

“You aren’t gonna ask me how I’m feeling?” Steve starts. He hasn’t had a lot of alone time with Jonathan since the whole… moving into his house thing happened. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, he’s spent the most time with Will, El, and Joyce. Jonathan has been in and out of the house, keeping busy between jobs since they moved back from California. 

Everyone else seems to have had their time to sit him down and interrogate him on how he’s been doing since everything happened with his parents. It’s well-intentioned, he knows, and he understands their want to check in, but it’s been getting on his nerves. His emotions feel a bit like an exposed livewire and the constant questioning just makes him hurt more. 

Jonathan glances at him without turning his head away from his camera. His expression is neutral, but not in a carefully manicured way. Steve quietly thinks to himself that Jonathan couldn’t be carefully manicured if he tried, and then he feels bad for thinking it. The fingers on his left hand tightly pinch the skin of his right wrist.

“Nah, I figure you’re getting enough of that everywhere else. You’re more of a ‘think things through before talking them out’ kind of guy, so I…” Jonathan pauses in thought before gently setting his camera down beside him and turning to face Steve a bit more. “When Lonnie finally, uh… Left us, I got a lot of questions from everyone. At first, it feels good, because, y’know, it’s like proof of a support circle? But I kind of ran out of ways to tell well-meaning acquaintances that I was fine.

“I don’t know. Obviously, it’s different than what you’ve got going on, but I remember telling my teachers and stuff that I was fine, better even, or, like, no, I’m not fine, but I have a family to take care of, so. I was actually a little fucked up by… everything at the time, but no one needed to know that. Things get easier to talk about from a distance, I think.” Jonathan shrugs, eyes hovering somewhere around Steve’s cheekbone while his hands bounce on his knee. “You’ve got my help, or a shoulder here when you want it, but take as long as you want.”

“...Thanks, man,” Steve says, feeling genuinely a little off-kilter from Jonathan’s little speech. “That, uh, means a lot. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your dad,”

Jonathan snorts, his head knocking forward slightly in a half-aborted nod. “For sure. Yours too. Mine’s Lonnie, anyways, not dad. He never really acted like it,”

“Maybe I should start calling mine Cliff,” Steve laughs lightly.

“Could do,” Jonathan shrugs, and pushes his bangs out of his face lightly. “Hey, are you gonna stay out much longer? I was thinking of heading in for a bit to clean up before Nance and Argyle get back,”

“Must get crowded all in one room,” Steve knocks him on the shoulder companionably.

“It’s fine. I like how lived in it is. Kind of hard to find space in the closet, though, when half the party leaves their stuff here, though. Has the pull-out been fine? I know it’s not much, but I swear we’ll get that extra room emptied out soon. It’s just been, y’know,”

“Nah, it’s good,” Steve waves his hand dismissively at his friend, “Honestly, it’s been good. I don’t sleep very well–”

“I know,”

“–so it’s nice to be able to get up without waking anyone else– hey wait a minute,” Steve grins and points an accusatory finger at Jonathan who cracks up at the gesture. “I’m not keeping you up am I?”

“Kidding, kidding. Any time I hear you it’s just because I’m already up. Robin wasn’t kidding about you and the news, though,”

“It pays to be well-informed! But there’s nothing on that late at night, anyways! Why the hell would you be up at three AM?” Steve cries out in mock outrage, gasping dramatically when Jonathan just levels him with a crooked grin, “You dog ! Your mom literally lives across the hall from you!”

“Gross, dude!” Jonathan shoves him playfully in the shoulder before scooping up his camera. “You’re good out here if I go in, though? I can send someone else out if you want company, but you should come in at some point soon or Hop’s gonna haul you inside himself,”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ll come in soon, I just have a lot on my mind,”

“I get that,” Jonathan leans over to pat him on the head, snickering when Steve squawks and slaps his hand away. The other boy tilts his head to the side for a sec before lifting his camera up, “Wait, stay like that– Can I–?”

“Oh. Sure?” Steve cocks his head to the side, looking up at the camera curiously. John brings the camera up, peering at him through it and fiddling with the buttons. After a moment, the lens shutters with a small burst of light that brings spots to Steve’s vision and makes him shake his head to reorient himself. Ouch.

“Shit was the flash too much,”

“You’re good, Mr. Paparazzi, sir,” Steve waves off his concern with one hand while he rubs his eyes with the other, “‘S just bright, is all,”

“I’ll see you inside, okay?”

“Go clean your room, young man,” Steve grins, cracking one eyes open at him to see Jonathan laugh. Soon enough, he’s alone again on the porch. The memory he’d found himself trapped in back when it was Nancy sitting beside him comes back to him unbidden and he shivers in the warm night air. The inside of his skull feels crowded with thoughts now that Jonathan has turned in. Maybe he should really head back inside, especially now that the sky is darkening to the point that he can’t see past the first layer of trees in front of him.

An owl begins hooting from somewhere in the forest, and Steve leans back on his palms to look up at the sky. Above him, the stars are just starting to blink into existence. It makes him think of Dustin and smile. A twig snaps somewhere in the dark a yard or so away and it scares Steve so bad he’s jumped to standing before he’s even had time to think. The movement causes the porchlight to activate, blinking into brightness behind him. Only when he sees the warm yellow light glint off of a pair of antlers does he allow himself a deep breath.

It’s just a deer.

It’s fine.

His legs and feet are tingling with static as he stumbles over to the door, uncoordinated enough that his family inside can probably track his every move. The night noises he’s surrounded himself with are quickly replaced by the regular ambience of the cabin. Joyce and Hopper are cleaning up in the kitchen, talking in low voices that Steve finds soothing. Usually, adults have him on edge, and the sound of their voices low like this would freak him out, but the usual feeling of dread doesn’t come. He watches Joyce smile up at him all open-mouthed in laughter with crinkled eyes. Hopper looks down at her with a sort of reverence he’s never seen before.

They hear him walk in because it would be impossible not to with how loud the front door is, but they just look over at him in soft acknowledgement before turning back to the sink. He has half the mind to wonder in Jonathan said something to them about the conversation outside, but the thought passes. Years of being ignored and surveilled in turn and he can’t find himself minding all that much all of a sudden. No, it isn’t the acts themselves that suddenly don’t bother him, but rather…

He doesn’t know. Steve doesn’t think he can imagine a scenario where Joyce and Hopper are standing there cleaning knives and forks together in the warm light of the kitchen and talking about him. Low voices while he was in the room with his parents usually meant he was about to get a firm talking to of some sort at best, or even completely ignored. He’s not worried about that happening here. A slow smile crawls onto his face that’s still stuck in place by the time he sits himself down on the creaky couch in the family room. The bed is folded up with his blankets. 

The phone rings beside him where it sits beside the door. He calls out that he’s getting it before he picks it up, hearing Joyce call back to him to say that’s fine.

“H’yello,” Steve chirps, absent-mindedly picking at his cuticles. A pause of breath on the other line makes Steve feel like a creep for being able to recognize. “Eddie?”

“Hi, baby,” Hearing his voice is like waking up. There’s a level of distortion to his tone as he crackles down the line, but it’s Eddie’s voice and that soothes something deep within him. This evening has been a process, making dinner and spending time with his family– finding outlets– and throughout it all, he’s been keyed into the awareness slowly creeping back to him. Hearing Eddie’s voice, even just those two words, melts away the last residual wisps of that fog that he’s felt trapped under. It’s like realizing in hindsight that he’s been functioning in a sort of fugue state– like how he feels when he zones out but as if he’d just decided to keep living in it.

“Eddie,” Steve says again, voice more of a gust of air than anything.

“That’s me,” Eddie laughs nervously. An image of Eddie gesturing at himself even though Steve can’t see him through the phone conjures itself up in his mind and he lets out a wet laugh. “Whoa, are you okay?”

“Gah, yeah I’m–,” Steve scrubs at his cheeks, unsure of when exactly he’d started crying again. It’s annoying really, with how many times he’s already cried today. His eyes feel a little raw, but this time as he tries to blink the tears away he can’t help but feel okay. This doesn’t feel like emotion clawing its way out of his chest anymore. It feels like a release, “I’m okay, Eddie, but, uh– I wanted to– I want to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my shit out on you earlier. It wasn’t fair… God, this sucks. Can we do this in person,”

This time, when Eddie laughs down the phone is doesn’t sound nervous. Steve runs a hand through his hair and blinks a few times while Eddie collects himself.

“That’s actually what I was just phoning to ask. You a mind reader now, Stephen Elizabeth?” Eddie says. Steve squishes his face up like it will help get rid of the crimson blush he’s sporting. His fingers play with the ring he’s still wearing on his ring finger. The metal is warm against his fingertips, “Tell you what, I’ll come swing by in ten minutes and we can continue this conversation uh… Would you rather come to mine or go get shakes,”

“Ooh… If we’re getting shakes can we go to Bonnie’s?”

“Fucking obviously, man! Let’s get it! Kay, be ready in ten,” Eddie makes obnoxious kissing noises into the phone and hangs up before Steve can even respond. That’s how Hopper finds him, laughing with wet eyes alone on the couch and clutching the phone receiver to his chest like it’s a lifeline. 

Steve spies him standing in the doorway with a furrowed brow, but all he can do it wave weakly and wipe the last of the tears from his eyes. God. He hadn’t even realized how deeply out of it he’d been until the last of that floaty feeling had left him. Suddenly, the subtle ambient noise in the house is clearer. The world isn’t subtly gauzy like he’s dreaming anymore, and there’s no lag in his vision when he stands to place the phone back on the hook.

“You good in here, or…” Hopper squints at him, obviously unequipped to deal with whatever this nonsense is.

“Never been better, honestly. Eddie’s coming to get me for milkshakes. S’that cool? I might be out late,”

“It’s your life, kid, but don’t be out too late. I can and will come embarrass you in front of your boyfriend to get your ass home if you decide to be irresponsible.”

“Yeah, yeah, dad ,” He jokes, the name rolling off his tongue without a thought behind it. He rolls his eyes while flapping a dismissive hand in Hop’s direction, “I’ll make sure prince charming has me home before the clock strikes midnight or whatever,”

“Okay, smartass,” Hop says affectionately, “Change your clothes. You smell like a locker room,”

Eddie arrives accompanied by the familiar sounds of metal playing too loud. Steve’s just hopped out of the shortest shower he thinks he’s ever had, and he’s so excited to see that Eddie’s back in his big grey van that he nearly walks out still towel drying his hair. Joyce snorts and snags the towel from his hands from where she’s sitting at the kitchen table as Steve walks past her.

“You have your van back!” Steve calls out before Eddie’s even cut the engine, but Eddie’s got the windows down, so he gets a double thumbs up in response, “Still no AC, then?”

“Nah, but as I’ve told you a million times, who needs air con in a car when you’ve got nature’s AC comin’ in through these babies?” Eddie points at him with one hand and claps a hand over the open window with his other. Steve squints at him through the windshield with what is surely a lovesick smile overtaking his features. One hand comes up to help block the headlights from beaming directly into his brain, but Eddie thankfully gets the hint and kills the engine. With the lights gone, Steve can see Eddie better.

His hair is bigger than it was when Steve saw him all those hours ago. It’s all windswept and frizzy, which is adorable and makes Steve absolutely want to bury his hands in it. 

“Have him back before the AM, Munson,” Hopper calls from the doorway where he’s crossing his arms. A wisp of smoke flutters up from his mouth as he speaks.

“Have fun, boys!” Joyce laughs, leaning over to swat Hop on the arm.

“Sir, yes, sir!” Eddie shouts, with a salute in Hopper’s direction that looks more like he’s slapping himself on the forehead with a fish.

Chapter Text

Steve never would’ve imagined he’d miss driving around in Eddie’s busted-up old van, but it’s nice and doesn’t hold the same guilty weight of riding passenger in his own BMW. As often as his friends try to remind him that he shouldn’t feel bad for needing a chauffeur nowadays, it won’t actually get rid of the guilt that sticks to him every time he gets in someone’s car. Driving has always been his job. This just stands as another reminder of some way he’s too messed up to be himself– he can’t drive himself or the kids, he can’t take care of them at the drop of a hat like he used to, and he can’t take a punch when they need protecting lest he fuck his stupid brain up even more.

The music filtering through the tape deck in the van is at a low volume as though Eddie wants to talk or thinks Steve’s going to, but so far they’ve been driving in silence. It’s not necessarily a tense silence, but it also isn’t the most comfortable– the air falling somewhere in the weird liminal space between where they’re both relaxed, but unsaid words hang in the air between them. Steve finds himself floating unintentionally after the long, laborious day. He sits quietly in his seat, eyes trained on Eddie’s hands gripping the wheel, and lets his mind fuzz out at the edges.

Today has been one of the best days Steve has had in a long time. He’s felt comfortable, warm, and loved.

There’s a big part of him that wants to start looking for an apartment for himself as a permanent solution, but it’s not an active thought. His lips quirk up of their own accord as he sends a quiet thank you to the Hopper-Byers halfway house for interdimensionally traumatized youth. He hopes Nance and Argyle are having fun wherever they’ve gone out for their date.

Bonnie’s is a little mom-and-pop burger joint just outside of town by the highway. It’s attached to a gas station and convenience store in a misshapen little trio that gets its entire income from truck drivers and bored Hawkins teens. The couple that owns it is retired. They’re sweet in a homely sort of way that lends to the whole 50s aesthetic of the place. Bonnie usually runs the diner while her husband cooks in the back, but he comes out sometimes when it’s slow to chat with the regulars.

Steve doesn’t really become aware of the fact that they’re at their destination till he notices Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, rubbing light circles, while his eyes stare at him with a look of concern. It isn’t the same distant foggy feeling he’s been experiencing for the past few weeks– it’s softer, dreamier. He doesn’t feel bogged down, it’s just that he feels slightly more to the left than usual. He blinks slowly up at Eddie as he comes back into himself and lets a soft smile creep across his face.

“Hi,” He says softly, voice croaky as he gets used to it again. The lights outside Bonnie’s are bright so the establishment can be seen off the highway and the red neon from the sign above the door is casting lovely little shadows across Eddie’s face. He’s got candy red splashes of colour painting his cheekbones like blush. He really is beautiful. Steve resists the urge to lean forward and kiss him on the tip of the nose.

“Hey,”

“Sorry for that,” Steve finally whispers after a too-long pause where his eyes just flit over Eddie’s face– taking it all in. Only once the words are uttered does he realize that he’s apologizing for more than just snapping at Eddie earlier. It’s about their shared history. The weird mental space he’s been in. The fact that he’s been isolating himself for the past couple of weeks. He apologizes for the way he unintentionally left Eddie alone on the drive, getting lost again when he’s actually trying to stay present in the moment. There are a million things he feels like he should be apologizing for– a million apologies that Eddie would never accept.

“Wanna head inside?” Eddie smiles a little sadly, taking his hand off Steve’s shoulder to lightly pat the back of his hand. The gesture is weirdly paternal and throws him for a bit of a loop. Steve blinks up at him, probably with a weird expression on his face, because Eddie cracks a real grin at him and moves the hand up to cup Steve’s cheek instead. Steve leans into the warm feeling of skin and metal on his cheek and nods, eyes drifting closed in a long blink. Before he opens his eyes, he tilts his face slightly to press a kiss into the palm of Eddie’s hand.

“Yeah,” The car is already off, keys clipped onto Eddie’s belt loop. The doors creak loudly as they open and make a strange clunking noise as they close. Not for the first time since seeing Eddie pull up does he find himself wondering what Wayne needed the van for because nothing really seems especially different or fixed. The back has been emptied and cleaned out and the seats put back in, but that doesn’t really answer his unasked questions.

Bonnie looks up from her book when they walk in, dog-earing the page and closing it with a warm smile. The cover is flowery, showcasing a man and a woman tangled in an embrace that has Steve blushing and clearing his throat.

“Hello, boys!” Her voice is warm and creaky. It’s warm inside, the smell of coffee wafting over from the back. Her hair is piled in a beehive sort of shape on top of her head. She reaches under the till for a tube of lipstick, trading it for her book. “How are you two doing tonight? I just saw your Uncle this morning, Edmund. What a lovely man,”

She’s smiling and it’s not abnormal for Wayne to come here for breakfast/dinner after his shifts so Steve wonders why Eddie’s shoulders have gone tense. He’s drawing his hand over his neck in a cutting motion and pointedly staring his comically wide eyes between her and Steve. She cuts herself off with a surprised noise and a laugh that she covers behind one veiny hand. Her nails are painted with clear polish and glint in the light above. The lighting is bright enough to remind Steve of a hospital– cut off from society and daytime at all hours.

“Oh, goodness me! Where is my brain these days? Hello, Stephen, dear, how are the kiddos?”

“They’re good, ma’am,” Steve smiles, shooting Eddie a suspicious look. “They’ve missed coming out here. I haven’t been able to drive recently, but we’ll be sure to bring them all next time we come,”

“Of course, darling,” She wobbles around the counter, guiding her way by sliding her hand along the countertop. She grabs two menus from beside the cash register as she comes over to guide them to a seat.

The place is mostly empty as it tends to be later in the day. There are two grizzled men in trucker hats and flannel shirts sitting at separate booths drinking coffee. One of them nods at them in greeting as they pass by. Bonnie pats the more tired of the two on the shoulder and promises to be back shortly with a refill. “I’ll give you boys a minute,”

“Thanks, ma’am,” Steve says at the same time as Eddie grins and sings, “Thank you, Bon-Bon”

“Are you trying to make me jealous by charming her like that,” Steve jokes, leaning forward to rest his chin on the backs of his hands. Eddie shrugs with a grin.

“Sometimes she gives me free dessert if I’m extra nice to her,”

“You scoundrel,” Steve grins.

For a moment the pair simply sit quietly among the sounds of oldies playing from the jukebox. There’s no animosity between them, but the silence is a bit awkward as they stare at each other. Both of them are waiting for the other to go first. After just a beat too long, Steve clears his throat and averts his gaze, absent-mindedly taking his glasses off to rub at his lenses with the fabric of his shirt. He still hasn’t quite gotten used to the smudges in his vision, but he’s been told it’ll be commonplace pretty quick.

“So,” Eddie starts, more of a prompt than the beginning of a sentence.

“Yeah,” Steve places the glasses back on, pushing them up the bridge of his nose and then raising his eyebrows slightly so they fall back to a comfortable position. “So.”

“You were the one that wanted to…” Eddie tilts his head in confusion, curls shifting slightly against his shoulders with the movement. Steve swallows thickly before he can meet his partner’s eyes.

“I know– I’m just… collecting my thoughts.” He breathes in deeply again before reaching under the table, grasping Eddie’s so that they’re holding hands out of sight of any of the other two patrons. His thumbs draw a pattern across Eddie’s knuckles, “I wanted to apologize. Earlier today I–” Eddie opens his mouth like he’s going to interrupt so Steve squeezes his hands under the table and cuts him off before he can speak, “–Please let me finish before you try to defend me, kay?

“It’s been– I’ve been feeling extra… bad these past couple of weeks. I know everyone can already tell, but I needed to say it. I’ve been feeling bad because of the whole,” He lets go of one of Eddie’s hands to gesture vaguely into the air, “ thing with my parents, but then I moved kinda quick from an empty house to a super crowded cabin. And I can’t– the cabin’s kinda far from everything, right? So I can only go to work or out if someone takes me since I can’t drive right now. But I’ve barely seen you, and when I do you– You have this secret? I know you’ve said it’s good and that I’ll like it, but, man, that’s a lot of added, I dunno, unknowns to add onto the already huge question mark that is literally everything else right now.

“So the secret is its own thing which, yes, you’ll tell me when you’re ready, but I, um. The real point of all this was that I wanted to say sorry. All of that was really getting to me, and the, uh, argument we had was the straw that broke the camel’s back or whatever for me I think. I didn’t mean to yell at you and it was unfair to take all of my shit out on you. You didn’t deserve that and I’m sorry,”

As he speaks, his eyes have gotten progressively lower until they’re locked on the tabletop, averted from Eddie’s own piercing gaze. Eddie has dutifully stayed quiet while he’s spoken. He has an energy to him like it’s taking literally everything in him to not talk back, but his lips are pressed tight together and he’s so still that he’s even stopped bouncing his knees under the table. Steve’s free hand has fallen onto the bench beside him where he’s started nervously picking at the cracked vinyl now that he isn’t holding Eddie’s hand.

They sit in a silence that has become a lot less comfortable. Steve’s eyes remain on the table like he’s stuck and the hand in Eddie’s grasp feels frozen under the table. The song changes on the jukebox. Bonnie comes by with two milkshakes for the both of them without them having to even order. Steve’s is plain chocolate, but Eddie’s got some horrifying cotton candy flavour that’s probably on the menu for four-year-olds.

“Say something?” Steve asks quietly once Bonnie leaves again. His voice comes out with a distinctly nervous waver, so breathy that the words barely vibrate through his vocal cords, “I’m sorry,”

“Stevie–” Eddie starts, and then lowers his voice after a furtive glance at the other two men sitting in their own booths, “ baby , can you look at me, please?”

Steve’s face stays lowered, head hung, but he looks up at Eddie through his lashes. Eddie’s face is carefully neutral, only cracking slightly with worry after they lock eyes. He looks over his shoulders again to find the two men still ignoring them and Bonnie missing from the counter– likely in the back with her husband. Once he’s sufficiently sure that no one’s looking, Eddie reaches across the table to tilt Steve’s head up, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly against his bottom lip. His body acts on its own as Steve’s tongue flits out to wet his lips, returning to safety behind his teeth with the taste of Eddie’s skin and cotton candy ice cream.

“ Stevie , I’m the one who should be apologizing,” And he looks so fucking upset that Steve can’t help but shake his head frantically, nearly jarring Eddie’s hand from his jaw, “Hey– Hey, ” Eddie’s grip on Steve’s chin tightens slightly– not enough to hurt, but enough to keep Steve’s head still so that they’re looking at each other again. When they lock eyes once more, Eddie looks unimpressed in a put-upon way, “I let you talk, so now you have to let me talk, Stephen Elizabeth.”

“Okay,” Steve says softly, feeling warm inside at the use of the name even when it’s used in admonishment.

“I knew you were going through a lot, so I thought I’d try to figure something out that would definitely cheer you up, right? A lot of shit has kind of fallen by the wayside with all this, and, like, you can’t drive– I’m not saying that to make you feel bad, man, I’m just saying the truth. A lot of things have been forgotten with everything happening. Figured– Gah, I’m talking in circles hold on.”

Eddie lets go of Steve to busy his hands in his hair. For a moment, Steve’s fingers twitch to pull Eddie’s hands away from where they twist and tug at the strands, and if the upturn at the corners of Eddie’s mouth is anything to go by he definitely noticed the startled movement. Just as Eddie allowed him a moment to streamline his thoughts, Steve waits patiently while his boyfriend hums and haws and restarts the same thought process in a million different ways until finally–

“This would be easier if I told you the secret. Can I tell you the secret? I was gonna tell you tomorrow, but if it would help at all I can tell you now?” He doesn’t sound sure. He scrubs a hand over his face and mumbles, “God they’re gonna kill me. Everyone’s gonna kill me,”

“Whoa, if it’s that important then keep it to yourself, man,” This time Steve gives in to the impulse to wrench Eddie’s arms toward him just so that he can shoot him an unobstructed flabbergasted look. Eddie laughs, eyes scrunching closed with the effort.

“No, no– it’s not that. It’s just that we had this whole thing planned, but honestly, they probably wouldn’t mind if I told you now. Do you want me to tell you or show you?”

“Uh… Hard to say without having literally any context,” Steve scrunches up his face in confusion.

“Fuck, you’re right,” Eddie looks off, deep in thought, tongue playing with his molars, “Okay, here’s the game plan: We finish our shakes, ‘n then I take you to my place. That’s where the, uh, surprise is right now. If you want I’ll give you hints while we’re on the way, alright? Again– not a bad surprise. I think you’ll like it a lot.”

“...Okay,” Steve raises his eyebrows and pointedly takes a long sip of his milkshake. When he’s made his point he leans forward so that his face is slightly closer to Eddie’s, “Are we okay?”

“Yeah, darling, we’re okay,” Eddie smiles so softly it feels like Steve’s insides are crumbling to dust. He isn’t even sure he’s even aware of it, but there’s a gentle expression in Eddie’s warm eyes that just pools hot in Steve’s stomach. He squirms in his seat as he maintains eye contact with Eddie, his face getting progressively redder.

It’s easier with the air cleared. There’s none of the weird discomfort or tension that hung between them when they first sat down. Being able to go back to joking and bickering with Eddie fills Steve with energy like he’s just taken a deep breath for the first time in weeks. It feels good. It feels natural . When Eddie leans over to try to scuff up Steve’s hair and almost tilts his whole milkshake over onto his lap– When Steve kicks Eddie’s shins playfully under the table and nearly chokes on his own drink when Eddie plays up theatrics of it all– When Bonnie offers them a refill free of charge, but Eddie denies with a wink and a flourish of bills because they have ‘places to be, people to see, Bon-Bon”–

It’s these moments that make Steve take a backseat in his own feelings for a moment. He sits across the table in a diner off the highway under harsh fluorescents and feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the joint’s thermostat. He watches this beautiful boy across from him throw his head back in laughter, twist his rings compulsively on and off his fingers, and smile happiness into his eyes– He watches this boy and feels nothing short of fondness and admiration in a tug at his heartstrings.

He holds Eddie’s hands with a look across the table instead of actual movement because one of the truck drivers has turned to watch them in their commotion. And Eddie looks back at him, holding his hands with a look as well, and–

Oh, Steve loves him. He really, really loves him. And he’s more certain that Eddie loves him too than he is of literally anything else in his life.

It’s a bit of a shock to his system, but not in a bad way. Sometimes big shocks scare Steve away whether or not they're bad, but this just feels right. It feels right to tug Eddie up out of his seat and toward the van with a friendly slap on the shoulder. Bonnie waves them away with a reminder to bring the kids. One of the truck drivers seems to be dozing off against the table, but the other one tilts his empty mug toward them in a display of not-quite out-of-place masculine camaraderie as he sits alone on the hot pink vinyl booth seat.

Eddie opens the passenger side door with a flourish and a bow that makes Steve laugh through a blush. In one smooth movement, Eddie pops down the sun visor, kisses Steve hard hidden behind it, and flips it back up with a grin. He runs around to the driver’s side leaving Steve in a lovestruck daze. Nothing has ever felt as nice as the way Eddie’s ringed hand smooths up and down Steve’s thigh as soon as their back on the highway, fingers playing with the inseam of Steve’s jeans in a way that makes him flush and shift awkwardly in his seat.

“So, hints?” Steve says, voice squeaky in a way that clearing his throat does nothing to help. Eddie looks over at him in delight, laughing brightly at his voice, grin only widening at Steve’s reaction to his long fingers massaging his thigh.

“Oh, you’re so cute,” Eddie’s eyes focus back on the road, but his smile remains, “We could pull into a field to make out for a bit before we get to my place if you wanna,”

“Eddie, this was your idea,” Steve says, cheeks flushed but voice amused.

“God, I know , but you make me wanna eat you,”

“ Eat me!?” Steve squawks, tugging at the collar of his muscle shirt, suddenly burning hot in his seat. His fingernails are still painted hot pink from the last time he’d seen Erica, but they’re chipping at the tips, polish coming away in chunks at work as he fumbles around VHS cases.

“Well, yeah , have you ever seen yourself, princess?” Eddie’s hand trails from Steve’s thigh up to his jaw, stilling there like he just wanted to hold Steve’s face.

“Oh my god, you are getting so side-tracked right now,” Steve replies, trying to ignore how hot his face feels under the pads of Eddie’s fingers.

“Fine,” Eddie sighs dramatically, dropping Steve’s chin just to feel around for his hand instead. Once their hands are safely clasped and held together on Steve’s lap, Eddie clears his throat, “Now I’m not saying this to, like fault you or whatever– and they don’t hold it against you either, obviously, given the circumstances, but. Okay, uh, so you forgot that you had an… appointment, kind of, last week,”

“Oh shit, I did!?” Steve yelps, sitting up straighter, unsure of how this ties in with whatever surprise is waiting for him in Forest Hills.

“Yeah. Well, two appointments sort of,” Eddie’s fingers twitch in Steve’s grasp around the word appointments in a sort of bunny ears situation, “I was able to phone and reschedule with the neurologist for you given that I was there last time and it’s kind of their protocol to work with people who might easily forget shit like that–”

“Damn it. I knew I should’ve written the date for that down…” Steve mumbles, apologetically.

“Oh, baby, no! I’m not ragging on you, I’m just… leading up to the grand reveal of sorts. Anyways, there was that, but we had another personal thing we were gonna do that day that also got dropped at the last minute. A bit harder to reschedule that one–”

“We had a date?” Steve looks up at Eddie, voice anguished, “I stood you up?”

“Oh my god, Stevie, no ,” Eddie’s eyes stay on the road as he speaks, but he brings their joined hands up to kiss the back of Steve’s hand before bringing them back down to rest in his own lap. “Let me finish please before you start spiralling, dude. It’s a hint still so I’m not gonna get too specific, but we’d made plans around the city, and they were understanding of course but decided to take rescheduling into their own hands and also my uncle’s hands, so, yeah,”

“This is horribly confusing for a hint,” Steve says after puzzling for a moment in silence, “But I’m sure I’ll…love it?”

“That’s the spirit! Now, how do you feel about my earlier proposition?” Eddie looks over to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively, slowing the van down on the empty highway at the turnoff to the Bailey family’s abandoned farm. In response, Steve just smirks and starts manoeuvering their hands up to rest higher in Eddie’s lap, making the other boy gulp audibly and swerve to a stop just out of sight of the highway. In no time at all, the emergency brake is thrown on and Steve has a lapful of Eddie who has decided that attacking Steve’s neck with his tongue and teeth is his apparent sole purpose in life.

When they finally get to Forest Hills, both the boys are decidedly more rumpled than they had been at the diner. Eddie’s lips are red and Steve’s stretched-out muscle shirt isn’t hiding his new bites and bruises very well. At a red light on the empty Hawkins streets, Eddie has to grab Steve by the jaw again to kiss him soundly after he catches Steve absentmindedly pressing his fingers against the marks on his neck.

The Munson trailer is lit up inside, more than Steve would expect given how late it is, but Eddie sits them still for a moment, staring at Steve with an unreadable expression.

“They’re really not expecting you tonight, but it’s gonna be great,” He says seriously and for a moment Steve wonders who he’s really trying to convince.

“Sure. Uh, should we head in…?” Steve gestures at the front door, only vaguely able to make out the shadows of multiple people moving around inside behind the stained off-white curtains that are drawn across the trailer windows.

“Yes. Okay. Sure, yes– Absolutely,” Eddie takes a deep breath, more nervous than Steve is which is weird given that he’s the one who knows what awaits them inside the trailer. With one slap to the steering wheel, Eddie throws open his door, too accustomed to the horrible groaning of the hinges to even react. Just like he did at the diner, he runs around the car to open Steve’s door for him with a theatrical bow and a proffered hand. The walk to the trailer is alarming given the way Eddie’s hands are shaking and he keeps mumbling to himself in an attempt to pump himself up.

“Are you sure you’re okay? We can leave it till tomorrow if you–” Steve starts, tugging Eddie back from the trailer.

“No! Sorry, no, it’s good we just had this plan and now– Actually, pause for a sec–” Steve freezes in confusion as Eddie runs back to the van, fumbling around in the back till he triumphantly whoops and runs back with a t-shirt. “You might want to cover up to uh– I didn’t mean to mark you up so much and we’re gonna get made fun of if we go in there like this.”

“...Okay?” Steve says cautiously. When he strips off his muscle shirt Eddie averts his gaze politely which makes Steve smirk despite the circumstances, “You’re kinda making me nervous with all this, though,”

“ Sorry,” Eddie says emphatically, looking genuinely apologetic, “I’m really not trying to, but I really don’t want to have overstepped and fucked up– Y’know what? Let’s just– Let’s go in,” He herds Steve toward the door.

Even though it’s his trailer, Eddie huddles up behind Steve and leans over him to knock softly on the door. The door is quickly cracked open to show Wayne, mid-laugh, who freezes when he sees who’s standing on his front step.

“So, Wayne–” Eddie starts hesitantly.

“Edmund, you were the one who was being so tricky about this plan. What’s all this?” His uncle raises an eyebrow at his nephew, drawing his eyes up and down the pair on the front stoop, eyes stopping briefly at the marks that are barely hidden under the collar of the new t-shirt.

“Well, yeah, but he’s been so upset, Wayne,” Eddie whines, leaning more of his weight against Steve’s back, “And– They just– Can’t we change the plans just a little bit?”

“Hell of a deviation, boy, but ‘spose they were your plans to start with,”

“Sorry, uh, what’s happening right now?” Steve asks in confusion. It’s the first time he’s spoken since the door has opened and his eyebrows rise in alarm when the sound of his voice is accompanied by a commotion inside the trailer.

The night air is hot and dry as summer swings in and it’s only warmer with Eddie plastered against his back like he is. He feels like a bug under a microscope with Wayne Munson’s gaze locked on him despite knowing that’s never Wayne’s intention. Intense, searching eyes must be a Munson trait. Cicadas are chirping loudly in the surrounding trees. Somewhere in the trailer park, someone’s playing a guitar. There are people chattering distantly and cars passing the community every once in a while. The sky is clear and the air is buzzing with tension that makes Steve’s ears ring a little.

The weather is a high of 82 which leaves Steve sweating in his borrowed black t-shirt when the door to the Munson trailer gets pushed open. In some ways, the moment happens in slow motion, but as it stands, Steve has approximately one second to think of Eddie’s embarrassment at marking him up before his arms full and he’s nearly pushed right off the step if not for Eddie plastered to his back.

It’s a hot June night, that finds Steve wearing his boyfriend’s clothes, freshly out of a weeks-long fugue state and meeting his aunts again for the first time in ten years.

Chapter Text

Some of Steve’s earliest memories take place just outside of Hawkins.

His first memory of his father is of the back of his head as Steve wiggles around in his car seat. His father was never the biggest fan of music, so car rides with him were usually accompanied by AM radio. By the age of six, Steve knew the names of every daytime talk radio host from his father’s go-to stations. Hawkins usually picked up a spotty group of stations from Indianapolis and the surrounding area, but the connection got iffy around certain parts of the city. He’d listen to the news and learn about baseball games happening miles away before even learning to read.

It was his father that drove him to his aunt’s house to stay when his parents were going out of town. Mother never liked to drive on the highways, and she never liked her in-laws, so she stayed at home for the most part whenever her husband made the trip out to the little town where his sister lived. Thirty minutes outside of Hawkins, ten minutes until they’d arrive at his Aunt’s front door, the connection always cut out. Instead of flipping to FM and finding a station to fill the silence, his father and Steve would sit in silence.

It was boring when he was younger. That ten minutes felt like a lifetime when he was tiny, but he knew better than to voice it even then. He’d kick his feet in the little shoes his mother picked out for him from a catalogue and twirl his fingers through his too-long hair. Sometimes he’d chew on his nails if his mother had forgotten to help him cut them again.

The ten minutes of silence were always worth it in the end, though, when they’d pull up the gravelly driveway to Auntie Anna’s house. She was always waiting outside the front gate, hands on her brow to block out the sun, waiting for him to arrive. It was always so much harder to tamp down on his excitement when he spied her through his window– An excitement that not even his dad’s sharp look in the rearview mirror could stop.

These earlier memories aren’t very clear whether with age or the memory problems he gained through the years, but he knows he’ll never forget them. Childhood always comes with a built-in pair of rose-coloured glasses that make everything all that much dreamier. There’s a gauzy film over his remembrance of his aunts that smooths over imperfections and glances past context.

Six-year-old Steve wasn’t thinking about why he would spend upwards of three weeks away from his schoolfriends during summer break. He wasn’t thinking about the rare occasions he’d be given to Anna during the school year and have to wake up when it was still dark out to bundle into her creaky little jeep just so he would make it to school on time. She’d always change the station whenever ads played.

What he does remember is her long dark hair and dark black eyes that were so distinctly a Harrington’s features– features his father never let him forget Steve hadn’t inherited. His father’s dark eyes are cold and beady, but Auntie Anna’s always reminded him of the night sky. She’d take Susan and him out to watch meteor showers sometimes and he could watch the whole event in the reflection of her eyes if he wanted to, bundled up in his pyjamas, head resting on her sternum.

Her hair was darker than Steve's and his mother’s but identical to his father’s. She kept it long and thick, braided down her back and tied off with a rubber band. Steve remembers being a child, sitting on her bathroom counter next to her as she braided her hair. He’d brush his own hair clumsily with her bristle brush and then softly run his fingers over his face imagining that he had Anna’s features instead of his mother's– That his hair and eyes were darker, and his jaw less square. Back when his hair was long for a boy, Anna would braid his too. She’d use hair ties instead of rubber bands so it wouldn’t tug, and tuck the loose strands back with bobby pins.

She was tall, larger than life with broad shoulders and big hands that helped her mold clay. She had calluses on the sides of her fingers from holding her tools that he’d run his little fingers over while holding her hand at crosswalks.

Susan would never wait outside for him when his father would drop him off in the country, but she was always waiting inside with fresh baked goods or a cup of juice. She’d pet his hair softly and coo about how much he’d grown while he hugged her around the thighs. Her voice was deeper than Anna’s in a comforting way. Susan didn’t live with Anna, but she was always over anyways, so it felt like the same thing. The three of them did everything together until they suddenly stopped coming over.

The trips to the country ceased shortly after Steve’s ninth birthday. Six months later, his parents left him home alone for the first time. They were only gone for two days, but he spent them both closed away in his room, scared of the dark emptiness of the rest of the house. His parents had come home the next day to a call from Steve’s principal wondering about his unexcused absence and their son, tear-tracked and in his pyjamas from two nights ago.

It got easier when he was older. He hit his growth spurt earlier than the other boys his age and could reach the stove to cook himself gourmet meals like scrambled eggs with the shell carefully picked out. Every once in a while he’d think of his aunt and her neighbour when something reminded him of them, but it wasn’t more than a passing thought. Until–

The last time Steve hugged his aunt, he was after that birthday party. They’d given him an address book and notebook with their phone number and address inside and a new hat for little league. Back then, Anna was miles taller than Steve in her pastel button-up and paint-stained chinos. She was always taller than Susan, who Steve already thought was one of the tallest people he knew. Adults always seemed so big at that age.

Now, with his eyes wet with tears, Steve realizes that he’s still shorter than his aunt. It must be a Harrington thing. She has wet cheeks that definitely match his own as she stands with her hands cradling his face.

“ Steve? ” Anna whispers, voice wobbly. Hearing her speak and seeing her is enough for a soundless sob to punch its way from his chest. He closes his eyes, choking on his heart which has leapt into his throat and leans his face forward to press their foreheads together. Eddie makes an aborted sound behind him, keeping his hands firmly on Steve’s hips. Wayne’s rough palm pats him on the shoulder once before his footsteps signal his retreat. There’s a brief, hushed conversation inside but Steve isn’t paying much attention to anything save for the way his lungs keep whining with each exhale.

“Auntie?” Steve’s voice breaks a little when he moves his head back to look at her face again, not quite believing what’s in front of him.

“Oh, baby… My Stevie–” Anna smooths her hands over his cheeks and forehead, fingers running idly over his hairline as though making sure he’s real. Her fingerprint brushes over the smattering of scars on his temple from Billy and the plate, and Steve gets to watch her face crease briefly in concern. She has wrinkle lines on her forehead and around her eyes that crinkle when she smiles through her tears, “You’re so grown up. I missed you grow up,” Her face collapses again into tears that only spur his on even more till their both shaky messes. He’s almost forgotten Eddie’s there by the time his boyfriend starts running his fingers lightly over his stomach to soothe him.

The sound of wheels on the carpet of the trailer comes from behind the door.

“Annabelle, I’d like to see him too,” Susan grouches, her tone negated by the gentle hand she cups around her partner’s waist to carefully move her to the side, “Why don’t you let him come inside, darlin’”

Wayne is leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer in his hand. Eddie makes his way over as soon as they come inside, looking a little shaky. Anna and Susan lead him into the Munson’s living room where they all sit together, Anna and Steve on the loveseat and Susan across from them in her chair. It feels overwhelming, in a way, that the women haven’t stopped touching him since he’s crossed the threshold. Anna is holding him tightly to her side as though trying to subtly restrain him and Susan isn’t doing much better with the tight grip she has on his knee.

The record player on the floor in the corner is set to a low enough volume that Steve can’t really make out any of the words, but he can tell it’s Elvis. 

“She wasn’t kidding, kid, you’ve definitely gotten bigger than the last time I saw you,” Susan says, cracking a grin with twinkling eyes. Her voice is deep and raspy like a hug. She has crow’s feet to rival her partner’s and laugh lines set deep in her cheeks. She smells like cigarette smoke and fresh flowers, or they both do, or Susan smells like cigarettes and Auntie Anna smells like flowers. They’re thinner than he remembers, especially Susan with her bony hands and deep cheekbones. Her hair is still blonde, but shorter than it used to be.

“Ten years will do that to a person,” Steve snarks back, sniffing grossly as he takes his hand off Susan’s to rub some of the wetness off his cheeks. Anna laughs abruptly.

“Shut up, don’t joke about that,”

“Hey, it’s none of our faults,” Steve bites his lips to stop himself from smiling all goofy at the woman.

“I hope you’re not too peeved about it, but Wayne and your boy told us a bit about what’s been going on. Gotta say– the way it all went down bites, but you have no idea how glad I am that your out of that house, kiddo,” Susan gives him a sympathetic look. 

“We should’ve gotten you away from my brother years ago…” Anna says almost like she’s talking to herself.

“At least I have my family down here. I wouldn’t trade that for the world, Auntie, but I’ve missed you so much–” 

“Yes, your wonderful family! We’ve been in touch.” Anna smiles brightly and sweeps her long braid forward to smooth a hand down it. There are sparse strands of grey in her hair, more grouped together around her roots. She has a beautiful ring on her finger that he notices matches the one Susan’s wearing. “It’s been absolutely lovely to reconnect with Joyce.”

“She’s always been a sweet woman,”

“She is! She’s a great mom,” Steve smiles.

“We were– the original plan– Oh, I hope Eddie doesn’t mind if we tell you?” Anna says as a question while looking at the men in the kitchen over Steve’s shoulder. Eddie makes a sort of shooing motion with one hand, a smile on his face that obviously means ‘be my guest’. “Well, we had originally made plans to meet up in town a week ago–”

“Oh Shit ,” Steve hisses, whipping his head around to stare wide-eyed at Eddie, “That’s the ‘get-together’ you were talking about!? Dude, why didn’t you remind me?”

“Sweetheart, I tried!” Eddie whines, throwing his head back dramatically to speak at the ceiling. Susan cackles with laughter at Eddie’s antics while Wayne snickers behind his beer bottle. Steve looks at him, offended, “You were in one of your–” He cuts his eyes over to his aunts discretely, “Uh, I haven’t told them about any of your brain stuff. It was– You were having a bad day, I think?”

“Ah,” Steve winces, “Sorry,”

“All good! We figured it out, didn’t we?” Eddie says and takes a sip from the cup of water Wayne pressed into his hands at some point. The bare bulb in the ceiling above him flickers warmly making the blush painted across his cheeks look extra pretty. There are smudges on Steve’s lenses from rubbing tears out of his eyes, but all he can focus on is the acute sense of adoration he’s feeling as he smiles over at Eddie. Both of his hands are cupped tightly around his glass like he’ll start shaking uncontrollably if he lets his grip loosen. Wayne gives Eddie an approving pat on the shoulders.

“Mind if we join you folks over there?” Wayne asks. He’s had this funny little amused look on his face the entire time Steve’s been there that he hasn’t seen before and it reminds Steve that he hasn’t really seen Wayne interact with anyone besides Eddie before.

“Oh, you’re asking now?” Susan gripes. Anna rolls her eyes and swats her partner on the shoulder. 

“Behave, Sue,” 

The boys laugh at her admonishing tone and the Munsons make their way over to sit. Wayne’s got a can of diet coke in one hand that he hands off to Anna before sitting in his recliner. Abruptly, Steve realizes how much time has passed. His aunts don’t look especially aged, but a decade has certainly passed for them just as much as him. So much has happened for both parties in that time that he almost feels like he could stay up forever just to cover it all in one night. Eddie settles himself on the carpet, cross-legged across from Steve looking like he’s trying to give Steve space for this moment, but also wants to be a part of it so badly. It makes him realize–

“Hey, wait…” Steve turns his gaze between Wayne and Sue with a mischievous look plastered on his smile, “Didn’t you mention something about owing Wayne money? What was all that about?”

Susan buries her head in her hands, slumping over her knees in her wheelchair while laughing brightly. 

“Yes, Sue, what’s all that about?” Anna giggles, covering her mouth with one hand. It makes Steve want to tug on her arm so that she’ll stop hiding the smile he’s missed so much.

“You fucking Harringtons…” She mumbles into her palms. When she looks up again her face is red, “Anna give me your– your hand, you menace. See this?” Sue brings Anna’s hand up between them, watching a beautiful diamond ring sparkle in the light of the trailer. The band is gold and inlaid with diamonds set in the metal so that they might be safe from popping out into Auntie’s clay. “I had been saving for years back when Wayne and I worked at the same plant.

“They let me go after years working there because blah, blah women are stealing our jobs, blah– Well. Needless to say, I was between jobs for a while, but I needed to tie this lady down somehow and Wayne owed me a favour at the time so, uh–”

“Wayne helped her propose to me,” Anna smiles warmly, leaning forward with scrunched-up eyes to gently pat Susan’s flushed cheek. “It was very sweet. This was after we’d last seen you, of course. We kept our separate houses for a while till Sue’s accident, but we basically lived together already.”

“I still can’t believe you hadn’t met my Eddie before,” Wayne says with a tone akin to wonder. “I guess he moved in when he was just about to turn ten, and you folks had pretty well left Hawkins by that point.”

At the mention of his boyfriend, Steve smiles warmly at his boyfriend, apologizing to his aunts to stand up and sit with Eddie on the floor. He melts immediately into Steve’s hold, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek that Anna coos at. Steve hooks his chin over Eddie’s shoulder, holding him close and playing gently with the sleeves of his t-shirt.

“We’ve gotten sidetracked.” Anna says, clapping her hands together, “We were telling you about this lovebird’s plans.”

“Right, I forgot about the plans we’d made,” Steve winces.

“As a side note, we will be hearing about these head injuries, okay?” Anna pauses to narrow her eyes at Steve till he nods sheepishly. “So the day of, we get a call from your boy saying we’ll have to reschedule. He didn’t give much in the way of reasoning, so I was worried of course–”

“She had psyched herself up so much that she wore her slippers into town to get groceries that afternoon,”

“Sue!”

“I’m just helping the story along,” Sue says with a loving smile, leaning in to peck Anna on the cheek. Steve watches them happily, feeling himself drift at the edges a bit, the reality of it all kicking in. All of a sudden he’s having trouble processing being in the same room as these women. He curls his hand around Eddie’s wrist where his collection of rubber bands sits and begins idly stroking his fingers between the elastics. Eddie turns to give him a quizzical glance. Their faces are close.

“Zoning out a bit,” Steve says quietly. He swallows roughly, feeling his throat bob against Eddie’s shoulder. It’s like his brain is having a rough time computing the visual input of these people he’s only imagined seeing for so long, and suddenly it’s shutting down. For a terrifying second, Steve doesn’t recognize Eddie in the same way he sometimes can’t recognize his own hands if he’s gone too long without sleep.

When he blinks back, the room is quiet save for the record still spinning away gently. Eddie is facing him now fingers tapping that familiarly soothing rhythm against his cheekbones. There’s concern obvious in his expression, and it takes everything in Steve to just keep his eyes trained on Eddie’s, grounding himself by analyzing every little detail on his face. The world still feels slow somehow, the air thick like molasses, but he’s present enough to register the way everyone in the room seems to be holding their breath.

“There he is,” Eddie smiles warmly, cradling his face in his hands. It takes no effort at all to echo Eddie’s smile right back.

“Sorry,” Steve whispers, unable to work his vocal cords into making any sound.

“That’s a few times just tonight, huh? How are you doing, sweet thing?” Eddie’s thumbs trace over his cheekbones. It’s incredibly endearing, the way he’s talking to Steve like they’re the only two in the room. He feels hot and embarrassed, unable to stop his eyes from flicking around the room. Now that he’s grounded enough to look away from Eddie’s face he starts to try to take in the expressions on the faces of the adults around him. Eddie taps his cheeks again and his eyes snap back to meet Eddie’s.

I love you , he thinks, I love you. I love you. I love you–

He knows Eddie asked him a question, but he can’t remember what it was for the life of him. Instead of responding, he takes a quick catalogue of his body, noticing for the first time that his eyelids feel heavy and there’s a distinct, sharp pain at the base of his skull that comes from lack of sleep. His arms ache from the work he’d done back at the cabin, and there’s a twinging pain in his bicep where he hasn’t noticed himself digging in his nails.

“How long was–” Steve starts, suddenly realizing that he’s missed time.

“Just under ten minutes, I think,”

“My head hurts,” He answers finally, voice quiet enough to just be a breath.

“I think you might’ve overdone it today, baby,” Eddie brings his head forehead to press a kiss to his forehead. One of his hands comes up to gently pry Steve’s fingers from his arm leaving little crescent moon-shaped divots in their stead. “Think you need some sleep?”

“But–,” Steve's eyes, as if everything wasn’t already embarrassing enough, start to well up, “I just got here. And they–”

“Kiddo, we’re still gonna be here in the morning,” Susan says, voice deep and warm like a hug.

“Can I come over to hug you, darling?” Anna asks, already leaning forward as though to hoist herself from the sofa. When he nods, she meets him down on the carpet, pulling him in to crush his face against her shoulder. She kisses him on the side of the head before bringing him up again just to look each other in the eye. Anna’s wearing glasses when she hadn’t been just moments ago before he’d started zoning out. Her frames are thicker than his and a light tortoiseshell brown. The lenses look thick, like the bottom of coke bottles, and they’re fogging up slightly.

“Sorry, Auntie,” He says, trying to ignore the way she coos at the apology, petting one hand down the back of his head.

“None of that. Was this…?”

“It’s the– I’ve–,” He flicks his eyes over to Eddie, “I’ve taken a lot of hits to the head recently. Sports and, um, other things. Turns out, there are only so many concussions a guy can get before he, uh starts having problems? Eddie’s been helpful,”

“Jesus, kid,” Susan breathes. Anna moves to sit back on the couch, letting Eddie fill the space in front of him again. “Anything we should watch out for? When we see you?”

Steve looks to Eddie again, who seems to also be remembering their morning at the table with Dustin going over all the symptoms Steve had forgotten that he’d been exhibiting. “The most noticeable things are those episodes and the migraines. Sometimes he zones out for a reason like he’s tired or overwhelmed, but sometimes it just happens and he loses time.”

“My memory is bad now. Or worse, I guess, than it used to be,” Steve nods, “I got one of my concussions when I was a senior and I don’t actually, um, remember much that year. My friends help me keep things straight a lot. Robin helps me out at work and stuff, and the kids are more helpful than they need to be. I keep a journal in my car just in case there’s something important I’ve forgotten. But Eddie has to drive me around now, at least till the doctor can figure out how to make sure I won’t, like, pass out at the wheel.”

“We take care of him,” Eddie says, firmly, “Not just me and Rob, either. There’s a lot of us, and we all take care of each other. We’ve all got our things. Like, Dustin has nightmares, my legs have hurt ever since I got out of the hospital, and Steve has a bruised brain that he needs help with every once in a while. We have systems. It works.”

“No one’s questioning you, boy,” Wayne huffs in a light-hearted way, leaning down to pat Eddie on the shoulder. Steve’s belatedly aware that this is probably the first time Wayne’s heard any of this as well unless Eddie’s shared it with him.

“Yeah. It gets worse when I’m tired,” Steve shrugs, pulling Eddie down to sit beside him so that he can lean his weight on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I spent the better part of the afternoon building a ramp at the cabin? That probably has something to do with your visit in hindsight,”

“Wow, I can come inside and everything,” Susan drawls, her faint accent coming through slightly as she yawns into a fist. Anna snickers and lightly slaps at her partner’s shoulder.

“Are you… Are you still coming over tomorrow?” Steve asks hesitantly. “How long are you staying?”

“Yes, we’ll be here in the morning, darling,” Auntie Anna smiles at him, tilting her head briefly to touch her temple to Sue’s, “We were originally planning to surprise you over there, so I don’t see why the plan should change. I’d still love to meet all of your people. We’re here for the next few days at least, as long as Wayne and Eddie are alright with us continuing to take up their bed.”

“Long as there’s no funny business,” Wayne jokes, making Eddie pull a face and shudder.

“ Please no. That’s my bed,” Steve laughs into Eddie’s shoulder.

“Can I have Eddie tonight then?” Steve asks, eyes drooping slightly. Now that he’s recognized his exhaustion it’s becoming a lot harder to fight his body on the matter. Wayne shrugs.